Ouroborus
by chicketieboo
Summary: A postdoomsday fic. What if the words Bad Wolf came back to haunt both Rose & the Doctor? What if regeneration wasn't the only thing caused by Rose sucking in the Time Vortex? A story about being left behind, & about finding oneself, and the wolf within.
1. Prologue

OUROBORUS

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, at least as of yet. Nor am I making any money off of them.

AN - This was started on July 18th of 2006. P.S. Ouroborus is spelt wrong on purpose.

OUROBORUS

_In the beginning…_

_Once upon a time…_

He blinks.

His mouth agape ever so slightly, he blinks again.

It's when his jaw begins to open and close on its own, as if he has lost all control over it (just like the old gate that didn't work at the entrance Shireen's flats), that she realizes he's stumped. She worries about drool getting all over his leather jacket and thinks that he looks rather like a fish out of water.

"Look, all I'm sayin' is if time is not a definitive stream from beginning to end, how can you be so sure? I have my time stream, you have yours, Jack has his, and so on. We all connect but don't mesh, ya know? Like, people who live their lives simultaneous to us, we may meet in the middle, but we may be their past when it's our future. So that got me wonderin' how do the Daleks wipe out an entire planet and civilization from time and space completely? There's no alteration on the time stream, nowhere else they could be? Just like, after I watched them Star Wars movies again, the whole 'long time ago in a galaxy far away' I started thinkin', you may be over 900 years old, but have you even been born yet? Have you already died? Though I guess that's not important since your planet is gone. So, why are you still around when everyone else is not? Doctor?"

He does drool, just a little, and when he does, he closes his mouth and pretends that it never happened. She finds he's extremely good at that. He steps closer to her, with those blue eyes so intense and still has difficulty telling if he's angry or puzzled, or both.

She stands her ground, never lowering her gaze, unable to tell if she is suppose to or not, especially these days, days that melt together, days that have no beginning or end themselves. It's him who breaks before her.

"You're human, you wouldn't comprehend." He finally says before bowing his head and turning from her. She hates that excuse. It just reminds her of a parent who can't see past their child's adolescent naivety to trust them.

"Then explain it to me." She says, feeling completely justified in her youth to have him educate her.

"I can't!" He says, with a sort of exasperated sigh, throwing the wrench he had picked up a few seconds ago to fidget with down. It creates a tinkering sound against the grated floor. He then turns towards the console and begins to fiddle around with dials and baubles, because it helps calm him, something she _has_ learned on their travels together.

"You can't because you're not sure." She replies, licking her teeth with a smugness that comes with naivety, a naivety that she doesn't realize she still has, one that she so fervently deny exists, but it's there nonetheless. It's this naivety that draws him in like a moth to a flame, one that rubs off on him if he allows it too. It doesn't work this time, because he misses it, he still has yet to look at her.

"I can't because it's not tangible, it doesn't work that. It's feelings, it's knowledge, it's a language unto its own." He mutters, continuing to work on the TARDIS with a new device. She walks over to him slowly, wanting to reach out to him.

"Teach me." She says, touching his arm lightly, hoping it will get a reaction out of him. Sometimes she feels as if she's creating a little movie, a little scene within a play. She tries to figure out what the dialogue is, so she can manipulate the situation the way she wants. It's a little melodramatic, but it's hers, and she knows that it's even harder game to play with him because he's so unpredictable.

Looking up at her, he is resigned. Those bright blue eyes stare right down into her and chill her as he says, "You'll never be ready." He then turns back to the TARDIS and she drops her hand from his arm, feeling as though she has been burned.

This is not how she expected him to respond, she expected anger, she expected some snippy ape comment. This is not how the story is supposed to go, this isn't her happily ever after, but she has learned to work with it, to mold it. She can show him.

"You're afraid." She says matter-of-factly. Yet, this time, she shows no sign of smugness or subtle teasing. She catalogues this as fact. She's human. He's alien. They're in a spaceship that travels through time and space, and he is afraid.

If her tone sparks anything within him, she doesn't see it and barely hears it when he replies with "Of what?" with a bravado that says so much more than his words. She can hear the condescending slight in his tone that tells her nothing and everything.

She is sure he is calling her a stupid ape.

And yet, what she says next, she has no idea where it comes from, but just like she knows he's afraid, she knows it to be truth.

"Of it changin' me."

* * *

She sits on a swing that she has never sat on before, yet still knows all too well, as she looks up at the sky. Too many dirigibles here, that's the problem with this place, when she first saw it, she found it beautiful, but she now realizes that it was only because of the shock of it. Now they block the sky, making it practically impossible even on a clear night to see the stars. However, tonight is not one of those nights, in fact, she can see the stars quite clearly, which is why she just followed the second star to the right and ended up here. To say she had been just passing and nostalgia hit her would be a lie. She has deliberately sought this playground out, taking two tubes and a taxi just to get here. Half a block away, she can see a light on in the room that was hers, a long time ago, in a galaxy far away.

She slowly breathes out, the steam leaving her mouth, her hands wrapped around the freezing chain that holds her seat up. Leaning back she begins her journey of going forwards and backwards, higher and higher, as she pumps her legs. Higher and higher she flies, getting closer and closer to her goal, but always falling backwards away from it. She can't quite reach, though they shimmer brightly taunting her to grasp them in her fingers, beckoning her to come back and live among them. Tears stream freely down her cheeks as she feels herself getting closer to them and then being pulled away, a repetitive motion for a repetitive feeling. She lets her feet drag against the ground, kicking up gravel in her wake, slowly causing her to slow down. When she finally stops, her eyes are dry, and she embraces the numbing cold that is creeping into her cheeks and hands.

She will never come back here again.

* * *

They are running from a hoard of Anthaxphalthorians who are right on their heels, when it occurs to him it's a very good thing that they have tiny legs, the Anthaxphalthorians that is, because if he had short legs then they may be in quite a pickle. He also chooses now to make a mental note not to insult the king Anthaxphalthorians' mother the next time they come to visit. Though, he didn't realize at the time that she was his mother, or that a nod of his head was considered the deepest disrespect.

Live and learn.

Running away from them, he runs accidentally into a small redheaded girl in the market place. He looks back at her and apologizes with a laugh, as she stares at him in shock, but it's another girl's voice that draws him back to the situation.

"Doctor! Hurry!" she cries with a chuckle and he continues on his way, trying to catch up to her.

In less than two minutes they are around a corner and a significant distance away from trouble. It is there that they come to a halt. She bends down and places her hands on her knees while he cradles the small of his back in his old age, and both are gasping for air. No less than thirty seconds later, she stands back up, spry again. Her left brow lifts only a millimeter when she asks "Ready for another go?"

He breaks into a grin, a grin that would devour his entire face if it were genetically possible, and before he realizes it, she's already ahead of him and he has to push harder to catch up.

They are like the wind, and when he reaches for her hand, he barely notices the fit isn't quite right, that their shoulders bump and eventually they have to let go. Maybe it's the height difference, maybe it's that she's faster on her feet. He doesn't dwell on it. After all, he would go crazy if he did.

He doesn't deny her; she deserves her dance as well.

He mostly doesn't think of Rose.

Mostly.

* * *

He doesn't sleep.

He doesn't sleep and he doesn't dream.

Technically, he knows that this is not fact, but it's been so long since he has slept that he forgets that Time Lords do indeed need to regenerate their bodies through a process of rest. But it's like a hibernation period.

A very short and infrequent hibernation period.

So, when he does fall asleep, in front of the console with a book in his hand (Clemency Pogue: Fairy Killer), he doesn't realize it. He doesn't even realize he's dreaming as he runs through a pantomime of the day's events. The angry Anthaxphalthorians are there, and he is smiling and they are all running, hopping even, hop, hop hopping for their lives. He makes it to the part where he bumped into the little redheaded girl before he notices anything awry. Their eyes lock for the briefest of seconds and he sees hers glowing amber. A wolf howls and he turns back to run with his companion but it's then he notices she's nowhere to be found. Frantically, he turns back to the fiery girl only to find she has vanished from the market. He only wakes when the Anthaxphalthorians tackle him to the soft ground.

That is when it all began.


	2. Chapter one

She walks up the driveway to her mother and Pete's house when she can already hear Christmas carols and laughter and it's enough to make her turn around and run. Outside, the cold bites her cheeks and fingers, and she shoves the latter deeper into her pockets, wishing now she hadn't been too stubborn for mitts. Reaching the front door, she hesitates before ringing. She wonders who's on shift tonight, and whether or not she will receive a sneer, or a jab, or both. Most of the household servants never liked her, which was fine because she never really liked any of them either. They were hired after their trip to Norway, after she became even more reclusive.

"What's the point in bein' rich Rose, if you don't live a little?" Jackie had once asked her, her tummy showing and her feet resting on a pillow. Rose had sighed and rubbed her feet, knowing better Than to argue.

It's to her relief, that a girl she doesn't know answers. The servant smiles briefly, before moving to the side to let her in. She returns the smile and enters, unzipping her coat and handing it to the young woman. It's then that she hears her mother's laughter.

"Party in full swing then, no?" she asks the woman.

"Your aunt and uncle are expecting you Miss Tyler. They are waiting in the den," the servant says, before bowing her head and leading her away from the entrance. She feels the urge to roll her eyes at the gesture but refrains. She's learning how to be polite again.

She walks down the oak corridor, and past the main room, following the sound of laughter, till she reaches the den. Standing in the door's frame, she sees Mickey and Jake are already here, resting on the large leather couches. Pete's laughing and rubbing her mum's belly. It's a scene of perfect domestic bliss. The room is warm and inviting, and she feels a little disappointed with herself that her first reaction at the sight of it, is to once again, run away.

It's Mickey who notices her first.

"Rose!" He calls.

She watches as all eyes fall on her and she feels like she's being judged, eaten alive by their accusations. It's not good to be anxious these days, so she calms herself from the feeling of curling up into a ball and forces a smile to adorn her lips.

"Rose dear! You're so pale! Come inside where it's nice and warm, we have a cuppa waitin' for ya." Her mother says as she approaches with Pete in tow.

"You really should have let me sent the car around for you." Pete says grabbing her shoulders and awkwardly pulling her close. Whether it's for a hug, or a better look at her, she's not too sure, but her dower mood leads her to think of several sarcastic and terribly ungrateful things to say to him. She denies this urge yet again, and says, "I like walking, it calms me."

His smile falters, he being the only one other than Mickey who might understand. After all, it is he who she went to first when the stirrings started, it was he who booked her an appointment with a medical physician without proper papers, it was he who she could trust because he was still a perfect stranger.

She smiles sincerely at Pete, obviously not meaning to sound the way he apparently took it. She pulls him close into a hug and watches Mickey's expression of concern over Pete's shoulder. He is worried; she can smell his fear from here. It smells of sugar and spice, a scent that makes the weight in her stomach shift and her spine tingle. She smiles reassuringly to him, in hopes he'll calm down. She has enough to deal with; she doesn't need Mickey in fear, it will only lead to things better left alone.

After Pete releases her, her mum jumps her, muttering about how she'll never understand why Rose moved out only three weeks earlier. Rose thinks that that is probably the one thing they will ever agree on.

Her mum _will_ never understand.

They talk of Torchwood and politics, two topics of conversation that bore Rose to death. The swirling of her soup fascinates her more than Pete's concerns about running for the President of England, and that's all they can talk about once they're sated from playing twenty questions about her new job.

Do you have a nice office?

Yes.

Are they letting you pull your own weight?

Yes.

Have you been able to help them at all?

No.

The one thing they don't ask is the one thing they really don't want to know the answer to, and she is glad she isn't forced to lie.

Later that night after dinner is done, Rose sits in front of the fireplace with a glass of gin in her hand. She never used to like the vile liquid; thought it tasted like Pine-Sol or some other cleaner. But lately she's thought of just getting it all said and done with, and the taste makes her think she can pretend it's cleaner and she could just lay down for a nap she'll never wake up from. She knows she never will take it that far, it's just nice to pretend and make little scenes every once and awhile, like she did when she was younger.

_They are sitting in the TARDIS after a recent adventure where Rose was offered marriage by a local prince charming. Sure, she found it flattering, maybe even toyed with the idea, tempted to use it against him to spark some jealousy. The only thing is that with this regeneration, she's not too sure he wouldn't just leave her there. She thought she knew him, but after Sarah and Reinette, she has begun to realize there's more to the Doctor than just adventures and fun. There's also death, or worse… being left behind._

"_That was a rather eventful day," she tells him, pulling off her sneakers and letting the water that had splashed into them drain out._

"_Well, that's what happens when you visit archaic worlds still bent on a hierarchy system. The golden age has come and gone, when will they ever learn?" He says hanging his trench-coat over the railing near the console._

"_I think it's rather magical. Like some sorta fairytale." She tells him._

_  
"Well, that is what I meant by the golden age Rose, those days have come and gone. Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, The Princess and the Pea… all of them." He adds nonchalantly, as he shakes his head like a dog would to get rid of the excess water._

_  
"Wait, you're telling me, that the entire time we were there, that had been the place of Cinderella, red riding hood… Hans the Hedgehog?" She asks him._

"_Well maybe not Hans, but the rest are pretty bang on! And who do you think took the Brothers Grimm there? Guess! Just guess! I'll give you two hints… It was a Time Lord… Okay, ready for you're second clue? Oh come now Rose, don't pout!" he says, seeing her very visible distress. _

"_Why didn't you tell me?" she asks him, hands placed strategically on her hips for optimal anger stance. _

"_I forgot?" he says, more like a question, staring at her with a blank dumb stare, a stare she hates and knows is just a way of getting out of her super-angry mode. _

"_How could you forget something like that! 'Cheerio Rose, lovely place here, let's take a look around, have a cuppa with the locals, get into the thick of it, come out on top… oh and by the by, this is the place of all your childhood fantasies!'" She says exasperated, the hands finding their way off her hips and thrown animatedly up in the air. She watches his expression change from blank numbness, to being very serious, contemplating what she has just said. _

"_Rose…" he says, with a voice that resembles slight disappointment, "I would never say Cheerio." He then smiles, and goes back to bouncing around the TARDIS with energy that has a tendency to bubble and froth over into her. Not this time though, she is genuinely upset by this news, and he soon realizes it when he smiles manically at her and she stands there, soaking wet still, the chill setting in._

"_What does it matter? It's not like we can't go during that time period later. I just thought…"_

"_No it's fine, I just… I was surprised." And she is, how is he supposed to know about how important those fairytales were, what the meant to her as a child. "Once upon a time" and "happily ever after" were what she fantasized about as her life had been wasting away. It was what had sparked her to leave Mickey for Jimmy Stone in the first place. _

"_Ugh, and that BOY, gushing all over you like that, 'I would be honored miss Rose.' 'Your name suits you Miss Rose.' 'Miss Rose, let me get that for you, a lady should never have to carry her own torch through the Pit of incomparable.'" He says playing with many buttons and levers. "Incomparable what? I wanted to ask? Size? Evil? Smell? Bunny holes? Honestly be more clear with your national landmarks."_

"_I dunno, it was kinda nice to have a bloke be courteous towards me," she says, more to herself than him, while holding her elbow. Her other hand traces patterns in the dust covered console. _

"_Oi! I'm courteous, I'm the Captain of the Courteous team!" he exclaims indignantly, to which, she stares at him blankly._

"_Alright, maybe not Captain, how about the the player who's been benched for the entire season and gets put in the game at the last minute to score the winning point, goal, etc? eh? Rose? Winning goal?"_

"_How about towel boy?" she says trying to fight back a smile. He stares with a hurt expression, pouting as he turns back to his beloved ship's machinery._

"_I didn't realize that was something you _needed_." He casually throws out._

"_I never said I did, I said it was just nice for change." She says getting frustrated and a bit angry, "Nothing wrong with a little courtesy, or romance, or to be wanted and desired. It was nice is all."_

_Almost instantly she regrets the words that flowed from her mouth. She bites her bottom lip, and puts her head in her hands, turning away from him. God, how could he be so bloody blind? Even Mickey had figured it out sooner than he did, and it took Mickey months to decipher her blatant looks, and that's when she was fourteen. With the Doctor it was different, she was sure he had to know by now, and was just pretending it wasn't there. She didn't know if she was grateful for that, or upset._

_She feels hands wrap around hers and pull them down from her face, and she is surprised. Almost too surprised to open her eyes and look into his deep brown eyes, because if she doesn't see there what she needs to, she may break down right here. It doesn't stop her from opening them though, and instantly she feels heat rush over her entire body as he looks deep into her. It makes her wonder some days if he uses his 'slightly psychic' powers on her to read her thoughts. _

_They just stand there for a moment, her heart in her throat, the heat rising through her, the hair on the nape of her neck standing to attention, her skin is gooseflesh from head to foot._

_She is waiting, probably for a silly comment, something that may make her laugh through her tears, or to a lesser extent, waiting for him to throw her up against the console right now and snog her senseless. She still has an inkling of hope that it could just be a gentle kiss and three words that mean nothing and everything._

_He opens his mouth to say something and closes it quickly, a frown adorns his lips and she wants to kiss it away, but she knows she'll never have the courage. His brow is wrinkled in thought, and still, she waits. And like that, the moment is lost. He lets her hands drop to her sides and he grins at her a little lopsidedly and her skin's prickly sensation dulls. He scratches the back of his head, looking away from her, before stepping away from her and back to the console. She sits down on a bench that's close, and tries to remember what it is to breathe as he begins to prattle on about some incidental thing._

_When she was younger fairytales were how she viewed things, and the standards she had always held. She just never thought that her white knight would have a sonic screwdriver in place of a sword, and a spaceship as his steed. _

_Or maybe it was the fact that she wasn't a real princess, and only real princesses get the royal treatment. _

_Princesses and whores, but never the shopgirl._

Mickey sits down beside her, back from showing Jake out the front door. She feels the urge again to say something rude and uncalled for, but thinks better of it. Instead, she takes another sip of her poison and stares into the flames licking the top of the fireplace.

"Your mum and dad…" he starts.

"… Aunt and Uncle…" she interrupts.

"Don' start Rose," Mickey says.

"I'm not," she whispers, "just tryin' to be careful, after all, what would the help think?"

They are silent for a minute, or maybe it's two. She doesn't know how to tell time these days, her internal clock too messed up by the TARDIS. She wishes there was no such thing as clocks. It limits the imagination.

"You didn't tell 'er,"

"I can't, it'll destroy her," she says.

"You're beginnin' to sound like 'im, and not in a good way." He says bitterly, shaking his head.

She feels it rise from within her, before she has any time to deter its actions. She feels it, and it feels as if her body grows warm like someone has poured honey all over her. It bubbles over her skin and bursts from every pore. She is glowing, her eyes, her skin, her hair.

"Don't you ever…ever say anything about him ever again Mickey Smith." She says, with a voice that resembles something half human and half beast.

She can smell his fear; it's thicker this time as his eyes bulge terrified. Her beast is ready to hunt, the wolf ready to kill. His pulse is screaming for her to let go and attack, she wants to know what it would flutter like if it was released from it's cage. Realizing that thinking of Mickey as food instead of as a friend is not healthy and more beast than Rose, she shakes herself and the beast, with much trepidation obeys and retreats back down into her stomach. She feels the wolf curl around itself and rest, it is only then she can look at Mickey again.

"Sorry," she says, and she really is.

"It's not gettin' any better Rose." He says without his voice breaking, and for that she gives him silent kudos.

"I know why it's happening," She tells him, the liquor beginning to take hold. She doesn't feel as heavy anymore, nor as angry, which is nice. She's tired of feeling angry, tired of being tired. Tired of holding back the tears.

"Why? Did he do this to you? Did the… Did… Has Pete's Doctor figured out what's going on and how to fix it?" He asks her anxiously and licks his lips.

She looks at him knowing she's going to have to tell someone, but positive he will never understand. After the last three years, just being able to know what people are saying and being able to comprehend different languages, she wishes that she had learned a bit more instead of taking the easy route. Maybe then she would have a better grasp on the English language as well.

"_Doctor?" she asks him, breaking the comfortable silence._

"_Yes Rose?" He replies, looking down to her with those bright blue eyes. She feels his hand in hers, rough and warm, closed over her own fingers, making her feel small and vulnerable. _

"_What kinda Doctor are you?" She says, and wishes she had sounded a little less blunt, a little more sophisticated, a little more lady-like._

"_The alien kind."_

"_No," She laughs, "I mean, there's Doctor's of medicine, and history, and other such things. I mean, there's gotta be a field or somethin' you Doctored in… I was just wonderin' what that is."_

_He looks at her, and turns to face her, she can smell old leather, sandalwood, and faintly, starfruit. He looks so serious down his long nose, those big daft ears poking out each side of his head. But she doesn't laugh, something in his face scares her._

"_I'm a Doctor in death." He tells her, and if it had been anyone else, she would have rolled her eyes at the overly tragic remark. It seems like a joke she was supposed to laugh at, but she doesn't, because something tells her that it's not a laughing matter with him._

_She never does ask again._

"I didn't go to Pete's Torchwood monkey," she says, a tremor of bitterness biting the words.

"Rose, what? Are you insane?"

"I didn't go… because I know what is going on, why it's going on, and what would keep it fixed… or keep it sedated… it's so compli… When I swallowed…" She can't put it into words, they don't have the words in English, or any other earth derived language, or maybe she is drunk.

Either or.

She slowly inhales and closes her eyes. "I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I take the words, I scatter them in time and space," she whispers in a dual voice.

Images flash through her head and behind her eyes. Her Doctor, not quite as sad as the last time she saw him, Jack with a huge smile, throwing a pretty woman with dark hair up against the wall and kissing her passionately, a beautiful dark-skinned girl, with a slow stunning smile, holding her Doctor's hand, a menacing black Dalek, A blond woman in a power suit, a woman she knows she has never met but will never like. Jack looking up surprised as the TARDIS lands within his view, The golden light, the voice of the TARDIS mixed with it, a young girl with red hair that she sees from time to time in her dreams. These are just some of the things that could possibly happen, these are the things that are already happening, these are the things that already have happened.

She opens her eyes again. "My connection to the TARDIS is fading; remember how it felt when that happened?"

"It felt a bit like part of my brain was meltin' out my ears. Not quite painful, but not comfortable or pleasant. I don't get it Rose, it never did to me what it's doin' to you."

"It's cuz of the time vortex. I really can't explain, it's kinda like somethin' he said to me once. It's knowledge, it's a feeling, a whole language unto it's own. I never got that till now." She whispers the last part more to herself than him.

She feels Mickey's eyes on her. She doesn't know how long they sit there, a pregnant silence falling between them.

"My mind is breakin' down. Deterioratin' because the TARDIS was the glue that held it together. Back when I flew her, the time vortex, I should have died or somethin', I never did. I never got it, till now. She's the reason I'm still alive or sane or… somethin'," she says before she looks at him.

"_What happened on Satellite five?" She asks him, her voice shaking in rage. Her arms are crossed over her chest, holding herself together. They are in a row now because she decided after one carefully excluded piece of information on a planet that they were just on, a piece of information that could have been dropped at a better time, and she's fed up with not knowing what was going on._

_He was annoyed and brushed her off, not really saying anything as when she began to tear into him about the whole trip. Finally, her anger boiling over, she brings up the forbidden topic. _

_He walks over to her, a dangerous look on his face as he approaches. Grabbing her by the arms, he pulls her against him so that their faces are less Than a couple of inches away from each other. _

"_Do you want to know? Do you really want to know?" he asks her as his eyes search hers, and she nods fervently, too afraid at this point to say no._

_He runs his hands through her hair, resting his fingers against her temples and it takes everything within her not to shudder at the contact. She closes her eyes at his touch somehow knowing what he's about to do. Images flash behind her eyes, the vortex entering her, making it back to him, watching him cower in awe on the floor in front of her, feeling for Jack's presence and finding him dead, destroying all the Daleks and bringing Jack back. But something's gone wrong, she's screwed up somewhere and now it's too late, she can't let go. Then there is Doctor taking the vortex within himself and dispelling it back into the TARDIS, the feel of his lips against hers, the feeling of knowing all there is, all there was, all that ever could be. It is in that she sees more flashes of them kissing and holding each other, death, agony, a wall between them, a child she knew was theirs, a child that is not hers but his, she knew it all, and then it dimmed away from few. _

_When she opened her eyes, he is breathing hard, his eyes heavy with what she assumes are tears. She places a hand over her lips, they are dry and she wants to lick them but she doesn't trust herself._

"_You… you absorbed the vortex from me." She says, desperately trying to find words that won't mean anything more or less than what had happened._

"_I did."_

"_Why would you do that?" She asks him in awe._

"_Because it was going to kill you, and I couldn't let that happen." He tells her, his voice throaty._

"_But, it killed you." She says, her eyes filling with tears._

"_No, it caused me to regenerate, it didn't kill me, don't ever think it killed me Rose, you did not kill me." He tells her, and his hands are on her face, and he's searching her eyes again._

"_Oh god, I killed you, I KILLED you!" she sobs and he pulls her close, body to body. He's holding her now, calming her down, his hand wrapped in her hair, the other at the small of her back._

"_You saved me Rose, you saved me…" he whispers in her ear._

"_You saved me…"_

"She pitied me. We had common interests. She tried her best to stay the connection but time and space are weird yeah? No definitive line so she's all over the bloody place. Not to mention I'm on the other side of the wall, in a different universe. I don't blame her. Besides she's got someone new to take care of."

She can tell Mickey doesn't know what to make of that.

"If I go… I just want it to be quick."

* * *

The thing about companions was, when they left, they usually took their things with them. Well except for Adric… but he didn't really want to reflect on that, and well Susan of course, her bedroom was still as neat as the day she left it. Or rather, the day he left her banging on the other side of the TARDIS door, but that was her choice, not his, he just helped it along. Then Romana never really took all of her things either. But Romana, Romana was an entirely different story. She was meant to eventually come back, like the crisp air that accompanies autumn. Okay, so most companions took their things. He just found it rather ironic that the ones who he held closest always managed to leave something behind.

For the longest time the TARDIS hid Rose's room from him. He never understood why, after all, he was fine. He had shed his two tears a long time ago, and she was safe, she was with her family and friends. Their time was over, as she had said once, everything must come to dust... all things. Everything dies. It was _that_ he brooded over the most. Part of him believed he would care for Rose forever. He knew it was irrational, overly romantic, illogical, and utterly human of him, but he just couldn't help himself. The Time Lord in him told him that he was an idiot and Rose was like the rest of many. She'd wither and die and he'd get on with his life and that he would barely think of her years from now when he was running down some street hand in hand with another girl, boy, amorphic blob.

Those are the days he was usually cruelest to Martha.

Not that she ever put up with him. She knew insults that actually appalled him, and he's over 900 years old. Though, when you're slightly telepathic, you pick up loads of dirty thoughts, sometimes even on purpose.

It was these particular insults that she usually reserved for him. Like the time she was particularly mournful over the loss of someone she held dear, and he belittled her feelings.

"What about going to a beachy planet! Full of beach-like sun and fun!" he exclaimed. "You could even work on your tan!"

She looked at him deadpan.

"And get eaten by giant clams? No thanks. Besides, I hate sand." She replied forlornly.

He tried this for several days, going from boring planet to boring planet. Not that he wasn't looking for something, anything, he wanted to stir the pot, he was dying for some revolution, genocide, or just plain misdeeds he could swoop in and correct. At least then he could wake her out of whatever daze she was in.

It was after the sixth planet he snapped at her. They were in a little cottage belonging to an elderly woman that sat at the top of the hill right above the village. It had a magnificent view, and Martha was staring out at it, the purple and pink suns fading off into the horizon. He was ready to leave and go find a new adventure when she told him that it was pointless, that all the planets felt the same lately.

"He's not coming back to you, you know," he told her bitterly.

She turned and looked at him with blank eyes and in a calm voice told him, "Neither is she."

His hearts missed a beat each, and swallowing he started with, "Don't ever presume to know what I…"

"Ditto," she interrupted then turned back to the suns. They stood there in silence. Both with their wounds laid open on the table. He crossed the distance and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't move right away, but when she did, she laid her chin on his shoulder. He rubbed her back and both of them shed a tear. A tear of what each other had lost, for themselves, and for what they had with each other.

When they parted, both pairs of eyes were dry and they were ready to continue.

After that day, things seemed to get better. He felt as if a great weight had been lifted from both of them, and when they did visit a less than disastrous planet, or station, both enjoyed the surroundings and each other's company, something he had been able to do with Rose, and something he wasn't able to do until that moment.

Then one day, he walked down a hall towards her room to see if she was ready for another day. As he turned a corner, he stumbled across a door he hadn't seen in almost over one hundred and twenty days. Bright pink hit his vision like a brick and he smiled at the sight of her, thanking the TARDIS for giving him this one last gift. There, on her nightstand were two pictures, and he lie down on her bed so he could study them closer. One was of Jack and her kissing him on both cheeks. His blue eyes squinted in annoyance, like he was trying to force them off him, but he could tell from how brightly his ears shone that he enjoyed it. The other picture was actually four, from one of those silly booths you sit in. In the first one, they had donned their best detective/deducting faces and in the second one, they made silly faces. In the third one, she was kissing his cheek as he was looking at the camera intensely, as if he's trying to figure out how it works instead of just relaxing and posing. It was the fourth one that he adored the most though, in that picture he was staring at Rose in awe, as she was smiling brightly for the camera. He never realized it showed so plainly on his face.

"_Lets get some pictures done, yeah?" She asks him, taking him by the hand and leading him towards a small booth. Behind them is a rather large Ferris wheel and fireworks going off. He has just finished his cotton candy and begrudgingly has to throw out the stick in the nearest trash bin. _

"_Oh no Rose…. No, no, no, no, no. I refuse to succumb into your lust for the cliché." He tells her pointing hesitantly towards the booth that is smaller in size than the outside of the TARDIS, with a look of distaste on his face. _

"_Oh yes you will, and you will smile like a good boy while doing it. I need a picture of you. I don' have one." She tells him, turning to smile and tilt her head to the side for him. _

"_As it should be." He tells her. _

"_Please?" A now pouting Rose asks. She is doing this because she knows it usually works on him. He knows she is doing this because she knows it usually works on him. He thinks it may work on him again. He can smell the need from her, not the same as desire, a little more fruity than spicy. She smells like citrus fruit, rain, and salt. _

_Humans and their salt. _

"_You're supposed to do this kind of stuff at the beginning of the relationship!" he tries pleading with her. Neither acknowledges that he just acknowledged that they were in a relationship. After all, they were, it's just that neither has specified what type._

_She laughs at him_._ "You think I would have been able to get you into a booth in your last body?" _

_He looks into her greenish eyes and that fruity citrus smell grows stronger, and the smell of rain is heavy against his skin. There is more behind why she wants these pictures, sentimental value or not. He knows if he denies her this, he is denying her much more. He aches to reach out and touch her thoughts, but knows it's best for him not to. It's best for them both._

"_Good point! Booth it is then! Anything to please the fair lady!" He tells her taking her hand and pulling her towards the picture stand. _

_He can smell her pleasure against her skin like cinnamon and spice. It reminds him of Chai tea. He can feel a barrage of images being hurled at him and he has to quickly shut down his mind not hear her thoughts._

"God, she's gorgeous," he hears behind him.

"Yeah, she is, isn't she?" He says smiling.

"You switched to present tense."

"What?" he asks.

"You switched. Usually when you thin… mention her, she is talked about in past tense, you're now talking about her in present tense," she says.

He thinks about this and smiles, looking back at the photo. He always loved that dress.

"I suppose I did." He says studying the picture. Martha lies down on the bed beside him.

"What's her name?" She asks

"Her name is Rose, and she is fantastic." He tells her, smiling and turning to Martha. Both smile as they get up from Rose's bed and walk out the room hand in hand towards the console room. He knows now that he will always love Rose just like will always love them all. But it's time (and he is a Time Lord after all), to live in the present tense.


	3. Chapter Two

"There is nothin' you can do for 'er Doctor?" Jackie asks desperately, watching from behind the double sided mirror as her first child paces back and forth scratching her scalp. She is wearing a hospital gown and one of those I.D. bracelets, which, is pointless since Rose has no I.D. in this world. There are scratch marks up her arm where they tried to put the IV and where she has clawed it out. Although it's apparent she hasn't eaten in days, she is not too thin or ashen, if anything Jackie thinks she's glowing.

"NO! That is not the correct way to address the pro'lem! You have to attack from all angles!" Rose screams running her fingers through her hair and stopping for a second. Both the torchwood Doctor and Jackie wait with bated breath to see if she has finished her tirade.

"Rose?" he asks, holding down the button to a microphone that is connected to the room, "Rose, are you finished, will you come and let me help you?"

"I think… this time it lasted long… er… didn't it?" She forces out. Her eyes are bright, she is now ashen, exhausted. She doesn't focus anywhere in particular as she slides down the wall and curls up.

"Rose! Darlin'! I'm right here! It's mum! I have so much to tell you." Jackie cries out, pressing her hands up to the window.

"To tell to tell… what is… Do we have, there is no time for that. Where is she? Where did she go?" Rose mutters.

"I'm right here Rose!" Jackie cries out, placing her hand over her mouth. She turns to the Doctor and tells him to let her in the room.

He lets go of the button, and turns to the distraught woman, "I can't! She attacks anyone who comes near her when she's like this. We've had to remove the amount of staff on duty due to it."

"What a 160 poun' girl? Causing that much trouble?" Jackie asks disbelievingly.

"She attacks them, just not physically."

But it is too late… Rose is rocking back and forth, already mumbling to herself, her finger in her mouth. Her wrists and hands are wrapped up because she kept biting her nails down to bloody stumps.

"The fire, touch it…. Fiery red, we'll name you Scarlet, mum would love that, oh, Scarlet is too predictable. Dawn, Dawn then? No… that one's already taken,"

Jackie looks at the doctor desperately and he tries to pull Jackie away from the viewing glass to show her the x-ray. "The thing is Mrs. Tyler, Most humans use only a small portion of their brain at a time, Rose seems to be using the entirety of her brain… or none of it at all."

"What is that suppose to mean? An' what do you mean she doesn't attack physically?!" she asks angrily, turning to face the doctor and the scans of her daughter's brain.

"…Door, floor, more! I need more words, more numbers, not enough in English to figure it out…"

"It means… You see these cat-scans? All these black areas?" He says, motioning over them. Jackie can see the entire sheet is made up of black areas.

"…Parasites… how can he love us so? Because we do more damage than he ever did. Exploring, destroying…"

"We're calling them 'dead zones'. On a normal person…"

"Rose _is_ a normal person!" Jackie interrupts aghast.

"Of… course Mrs. Tyler. What I meant was this is highly unusual, usually this blackness signifies tumors. That being said it would seem that Miss Tyler's brain is tumor riddled, and from this x-ray alone someone would think this is a patient with a massive growth we are dealing with, or one who has been dead for awhile. But this is impossible - if anything Miss Tyler is exhibiting abnormally fast learning rates and processing data at record breaking speed. So she can't be brain dead, it's baffling. Then there are some other complications we can't even explain, when I say she's not attacking you physically, I mean just that. She isn't necessarily." He finished.

"Metal, kettle, nettle, petal, set… no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! PAY ATTENTION FOCUS!"

"You're supposed to know what's goin' on. Fix things. You have a big shiny piece of paper tellin' ya you're good at it, so DO SOMETHING FOR HER." Jackie screams pointing at the girl she once knew as her daughter.

"You have to understand Mrs. Tyler, that your daughter is suffering from something that no human, on this earth, that is, has ever experienced. That is why she is here, after all." The Torchwood doctor says emphasizing on the _daughter_ and this _earth_.

Jackie's not stupid. She prides herself on that.

And so, she tells him as much.

"Listen here doctor, whoever you are…. I'm not stupid. If you ever need to remember one thing in this lifetime of yours, ever again, remember this. That is MY daughter in there, loony or not, and I AM Pete Tyler's wife, your boss. So, get this straight. Alternate Universe or no, she ain't your pet rat you can dissect!"

The room is extremely silent other than their breathing.

Slowly the doctor and Jackie turn towards the mirror to see Rose staring at them directly with her amber eyes.

"I bring life," she whispers in her double voice.

There is a loud cracking sound of a mirror before it smashes to the floor.

* * *

Rose can feel everything, including knowing she is not just herself anymore.

She is Rose.

She is the Bad Wolf.

She is Time.

"Touch it… Fiery red, we'll name you Scarlet, mum would love that, oh, Scarlet is predictable. Dawn then? No… already taken; you scold me HATEFUL SPITEFUL…. We are in pain…. We are in tears… I shed my hate…" She says pacing back and forth letting the words flow.

She has tried to hold them back, tried to keep them in her mind but she imagines this is what Tourettes would feel like if she had the disease. Naughty words, forbidden words, spinning tales of the man with the blue box and a girl. They mustn't know. They mustn't find out. She sees them together, a family, the girl and her Time Lord. Then she sees him pushing a swing, Gallifrey burning in the sky, the screams of millions, the silence of millions, genocide, the Holocaust, Hitler, Great Britain in ruins, the universe imploding.

"War, there's always war, Daleks, Cybermen, civilizations tumble… Time is not a line; it's a big ball of swirl that floats to a song on a breeze. He never sang the song, I did. I sang him a lullaby and made the Daleks run away. Time is a womb. Exist here. WAIT! FROM WHERE? I'm past and future, NOT present! Mickey told me… he knew all along that four months is 16 days and 21 hours… 3 years five is months… Right? Yes… no… wait… no right, yes okay." Stopping she wishes, she has time to explain to her mum. She has all the time in the universe; she has no time left to wait.

Again, flashes of a wedding dress, a zoo with beautiful birds, and for him it's only been a month and a half since they parted, only 26 days since he last saw her and his eyes meet with a girl across the room, for the first time. She knows this is his newest one in the long line of many.

"Door, floor, more! I need more words, more numbers, not enough in English to figure it out… I need different systems. I need my notes… stop this… it's too much… YOU WANT IT TO STOP DON'T YOU? THEN FIGURE IT OUT!"

The wolf, the wolf in the basement, back at the old torchwood estate, it had known. He had seen her beast, but where had it come from? Had it come from him? Had it come from the TARDIS, or was it just a manifestation of her insanity?

"But I can't it's too hard… war, pain, suffering, genocide, sex, violence… filthy little parasites… how can he love us?! Because we do more damage than he ever did. I can wait, the wolf can wait, and the girl will obviously have to wait… The girl? I live here too! The screaming I can't stand the screaming."

She can see every atom in existence all at once, and she wonders if this is how the Time Lord feels. If he can feel every atom everything that ever existed or will exist or exists. She wonders why if he has had this power he had not told her how to use it, he should have known this was to happen, just like he will know what is to come. She knows what is to come; she is just trying to find the path on how to get there. But will he accept it? Will he embrace it like she has? Or will he fight it at every turn, making it harder than it has to be? Will he be so blind that he will not see what is right in his face?

"Meddle… Metal, kettle, nettle, petal, set… no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! PAY ATTENTION! FOCUS! I do I need my notes, I can't remember, too much to remember while too much is going on… one twenty that's ninety-nine. Ninety-nine is equal to thirty-six thousand one thirty five… seven point three. Seven point three is the number to be, tree, see the key… the key seems to be seven point three. That makes four thousand nine hundred and fifty. Thirteen point five six years." her breath hitches "Find it, find it find it find it find him…. Yes…. Giggly girl… good, good little girl…. Yesyesyes…"

There is a tapestry in front of her, as it has always been, she just couldn't see it behind the images, and she reaches out knowingly. For the first time in months, Rose (who was not just Rose, but Rose, Time and the Wolf) feels a moment of clarity. There, amongst all the threads of time she finally finds it. The one she was looking for all along. She finally has fulfilled her purpose, for now.

It's then she sees him. He's behind her mother and the Torchwood doctor not there, but clearer and more present than that day at the beach. His mind is reaching out to her, through time space and the void, and she feels the trace of others on him, a flicker of time, like a skipping record. She knows this isn't really him here, that she is the recording, a message to be later viewed. But she still addresses him.

_They're coming… _She whispers to him, trying to bathe in the warmth of him, to feel his heartbeat in hers.

_Not you… them… _She adds hastily, she can see his confused look, he had been trying to tell her something and she interrupted. But he's not really there; he's somewhere else, days, weeks, months, years, before this moment or after, a trace of him receiving a broken message.

_Hurry… what do I do?_

But she receives no answer, and as the faint image of him drifts away from her grasp.

"I bring life," She whispers as she reweaves the tapestry, she is the tapestry.

She feels the waves of what she's done smash through the glass in the room before she collapses. She won't fight them anymore. She will bide herself, or at least that part of herself. For she knows when he is coming. She has made it possible.

It is then she loses consciousness.

* * *

"I wish you would come see Rose with me," Jackie tells Pete as she takes Elle into her arm from his. Her second daughter is dripping from the nose, but her big blue eyes are staring up into her mother's in wonder. She breaks out in gummy grin and makes a cooing sound.

"I'm not her father," Pete tells her, trying to pry his finger out of Elle's determined grasp.

Jackie gives him a deathly glare.

"That's not how I meant it and you know it Jacks. She barely recognizes you, let alone me. She's hated me since she's come over this way," he says. He's trying to explain himself and backtrack a little and it's still not working. "I'm sorry, it's just too weird to see you in that much pain knowing I can't share in it the way you do. It happened to fast, I know her more like this than like the normal Rose."

"I know Pete," She says, taking Elle to the sofa so she can feed her. Pete looks at her with so much love that it helps, but only just a little.

"I'll go next time, promise. I'm rubbish at this father thing. I could barely change Elle today, Maria had to show me how." He inches closer to Jackie till he's finally right in front of her and she can't quite avoid looking him in the eye.

"Hey," He says softly, and she looks at him.

"You know I love her right? Know I'd do anything in my power for her to get better? I'm just scared to see her like that." He says, choking up near the end. Tears threaten to spill before Jackie sighs.

"You don't have to come if it's too hard, could you just make sure they aren't keepin' her like that so they can study 'er?" she asks.

"Of course… are you sure though? That you don't want me to come?" He replies.

This is a test, a test older than time itself. This is the test every female of her species gives the male, the test that says although I say one thing I definitely mean the other and you should know that if you love me enough,

It is, of course, the test that every man fails.

"I'm sure," she says with a smile on her lips.

"Okay," he says, seemingly relieved.

She hates him just a little for that.

* * *

It's a typical day on the TARDIS and they're both laughing manically sharing in one of those inside jokes that no one in the universe would get. She is sitting there in pajama bottoms and a tank top with a medical textbook in one hand, and a cup of yogurt in the other. He is setting course for the day.

"Zephybria?" he asks her, staring at the TARDIS' monitor.

"Nah, too warm this time of year." She replies, leaning back in a worn out chair.

"What time a year is that then?" He asks, not stopping what he is doing to look at her, but instead lifting an eyebrow staring at the monitor.

"Anytime of year." She snorts.

"Aphroditorious?" He inquires pushing a button and spinning a knob.

"Too Niagara falls-ish." She shoots down.

"Quing Zalpha Seven?"

"Too touristy."

"Quing Zalpha Six?"

She looks at him dead pan, and he gives her that smile he knows melts many-a-woman's glares. Usually it will work on her, but she has proven that sometimes nothing can break her. However, as it seems, now is not one of those instances, as he can see her hiding her amusement.

Last time he had taken her to Quing Zalpha Six she was carried off by some tribe's men to be offered to the chief as a wife. To win her back, he had to become her champion and honor her by winning a sport of his choice against their mighty chief. He chose a spelling bee. Though, thinking back on it, he realizes now not to underestimate any tribesman's spelling. Sometimes they are hiding more behind those little loin clothes than most expect.

When he did finally win, he was rewarded with liquor, food and Martha's hand. Unable to refuse, for she'd be stuck with the tribesman till she killed him, and he really didn't want to start another revolution, he married her.

She doesn't think it's very funny.

Especially when he calls her wife.

"Wait, why are we choosing from places I've already been?" She says finishing the cup.

"Good point." He says, scratching his head.

"You planned it that way!"

"Planned what?' he asks her innocently.

"Planned on bringing up Quing Zalpha Six."

"Nah, that would imply I enjoy you angry."

She stares at him, her face deadpan, a face that he knows all too well and knows that he is about to cross a line with her he doesn't necessarily want to cross.

"I know just the place!" he tells her, rotating a gizmo and pulling a gadget.

"Oh yeah?" She asks.

"Yeah," he says getting that look on his face, the one that is a mixture of determination, forcefulness and is giddy boyhood. Some days, she'd describe it to him as impish.

The TARDIS lands and it takes them a minute to regain their footing. He has no idea where they have landed and that makes it even more exciting. She gives him a look that can only be described as "race you." She however makes it to the door first.

Neither is prepared for what they see.

For Martha, the stunning landscape causes her to hitch her breath in her throat. Placing a hand over her heart, she is tempted to step out, and explore, but she is careful as well. After all, how often do you see fifty foot high waves that are made of ice?

For the Doctor, he cannot tell if he finds the irony painful or nostalgic. Maybe this is what humans mean by bittersweet? He doesn't know.

Turning to Martha, he tells her to go grab a coat. Something warm, maybe some mitts, and maybe some ear warmers, all things she can find in the wardrobe. First left, second right, third on the left, go straight ahead, under the stairs, past the bins, it's the fifth door on her left. She raises a brow at him but doesn't say a thing. She runs down the hall to go grab something appropriate, and he is glad she didn't see the pain on his face in under the darkness of the night outside.

While he waits, he decides he'll go for a little reminiscing walk without her. That way he won't be all broody when they explore together. This is her first time here, he'd like to make it memorable for her. There is no wind here, no noise to interfere with the tranquility of the place.

As he reaches one of the taller waves, he stands below it, underneath its cusp, remembering climbing it with a girl with bleach blonde hair and curious hazel eyes. He places his hand against the giant and feels the icy cold against his fingertips. Closing his eyes, he smiles remembering the conversation they had on its peek, underneath the stars.

'_Why do they call it Woman's Wept?" she asks him, pushing her hands deeper into her short jacket._

"_Because this continent, the only massive body of land on the planet, looks like a giant woman crying from above." _

"_Oh… I thought it was because woman cry here cuz it's so bloody cold!"_

"_Har… har… you're quite the comedian Rose Tyler, I told you to bundle up, 'it's cold' I said, 'make sure you have a coat.' But no, not you bundle up means putting on a jean jacket over your jumper."_

"_Oi! Look who's talkin', all you ever wear is a jumper and that leather jacket." She counters._

"_Yes, but my body can regulate its temperature so that I'm slightly toasty wherever I go. Extreme cold and heat that you cannot even imagine are my only deterrent. Can YOU do that miss Tyler? Hmmm?" He asks her with that oh-so smug smile, nose and ears bright red._

"_No…" She replies a little put out, before smiling brightly. "But I can do this!" and with that she touches her tongue to the tip of her nose._

"_Now THAT'S impressive, forget whatever I told you." He says to her, laughing. "Careful it doesn't get stuck there."_

_  
"mmmfph… mmphdmmmrrrrll…"_

"_Told you so!" he says, pulling her tongue gently off her nose._

"_Noted, never stick your tongue to your nose on woman's wept. But imagine where I could do it! You should take me to star search, then together we could rule the world." _

"_You plan to take over the world through star search?" he asks her. _

"_Well, yeah… you do know that they are a secret evil government," she responds._

"_That still makes no sense! How could winnin' star search mean ya take over the world? Why wouldn't it be the business leaders of star search?"_

"_I dunno, ask Jack! He is the one who explained it to me." _

He thinks it's odd that the memory is so real and tangible, and his hearts fall to the floor. The reason they're so real and tangible is because they aren't in his head. He's sure those voices are coming from above him. Panicking, he starts racing back towards the TARDIS when he bumps into Martha.

"Hey! Got out of my Jim-jams and wore a proper coat. Then some bloke who thought was really something started chattin' me up till I said I had to go find you. Wait, why are we going back to the TARDIS?" she asks as he loops his arm through hers and begins the trek back to the ship.

"I don't know how this happened, but it's bad, it's a mountain of bad, some may even say a plethora of bad to come? Don't think I wasn't tempted, tempted to stay, tempted to warn them, tempted to run away screaming, but I'm not going to do any of those things, I'm going to get you back safely onto the TARDIS because if I did any of those things," he says turning to look at her, "I don't know what would happen to you. So let's do the right thing and get back to our ship okay?"

She's looking at him with confused and scared eyes, but they're eyes full of trust, and she nods her head in agreement. Glad to know she's not going to fight him on this. So she had met Jack had she? He's so lucky that she wasn't near the TARDIS when they met, he's just so lucky that he can escape this unscathed. He looks up once they turned the corner of a smaller more secluded wave, to see in which direction he parked the TARDIS and feels his heart sink when it's nowhere in sight.

Sighing, he looks down at the footprints in the snow covered ice. Two pairs end about ten feet away, logically were his TARDIS would be. He realizes right now none of this makes sense, the fact that his ship would put him in a position of unknowingly creating a paradox, or the ship's disappearance from where it was parked. He searches the ground for another set of prints and isn't surprise when he finds a pair.

What is surprising is that they're tiny.

His eyes follow them up, up and up to the top of a twenty foot wave and sees a flash of what he's almost 80 sure was a little girl. She moved so fast he cannot tell, but the footprints and the splash of fiery red as she disappeared from sight is causing him to think as much.

Determined, he grabs Martha's hand and before they know it, they're climbing the twenty-foot wave, in search of a little girl that the Doctor hasn't even told Martha about. They do so in silence, because Martha is fearful that if she says anything it will ruin his concentration and she believes him wholeheartedly when he says they are in serious danger right now.

Once at the top, he scours the landscape trying to find a glimpse of anything, when he finds his TARDIS in an obvious place not more than sixty yards away. Confused, he continues to look for the little girl. He finds no sign of her, and wonders if she is indeed in the TARDIS.

"Come on, let's go home." He says, smiling and deciding to show her how to ride the waves down to the bottom. They sit down and it's just like a giant slide except there's nothing to slow them down so they keep picking up speed till they smash into the TARDIS.

"Ow." Martha says, rubbing her arm where she made contact.

"Yes… well, off we go then," He says, trying to pass off that nothing undesirable could possibly happen with him and that he never can be a bit of an idiot.

Sometimes, even he has trouble doing that.

* * *

She's on all fours, and she can feel the desire to feed rising in the back of her throat. It's been so long since she's been free from her cage, from her shackles that tether her to the weak. She runs, runs not caring where she ends up, chasing scents and dreams across the trees, until she sees her, a little ginger head beyond the trees.

Slowly, she approaches, she sniffs the air for any other scent, trying to find out how she almost missed it, missed her dinner.

The little head belongs to a little body who belongs to a little girl. She stands there, staring at her, and she feels that she's rising into the air, rising up and far away, as they maintain eye contact. She stands on two feet, now Rose again, and she reaches for the child.

She pulls her into her arms, and looks beyond her, past the trees and the meadow, the sky and the sun.

A smile crosses her lips as she licks her teeth. She may be Rose, but she still is hungry, still desires the catch, and so she waits, waits for eternity in the shadows, watching for the sun to fall and rise on her prey.

"Mummy." Is all she hears.


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N:**

Trailer is under ouroborus at http://youtube. com/watch?vbsC0DPsGXAw

http://s124.photobucket. com/albums/p17/wolfmoonouroborus/

It may be late but it's still arrived, so hurrah for that. I've decided I'm going to try to update for every monday wednesday and friday.. I'm also going to start adding art that has to do with the story onto a picture site so that it's available for everyone. WHAT THIS MEANS: ANYONE THAT WANTS TO USE AND MANIPS OR IMAGES FOR OTHER PURPOSES, please just ask.

* * *

Mickey doesn't realize he's speeding until he almost misses the entrance to the hospital and he slams on the brakes. He looks over to his passenger, Jake, to see if he's hurt, only to have Jake smile at him reassuringly. Slowly, he has the car crawl into the lot till they find a sufficient parking spot. When they reach the hospital entrance, it's Jake who wants to check out the gift shop. Mickey is about to agree reluctantly, when Jackie calls to them. She's been waiting for them to show in the lobby. 

"Jackie," Mickey breathes, holding the woman close in his arms. She smells like baby-powder and hairspray, it is an odd combination but utterly Jackie. If situations had worked out differently, this may have been his mother-in-law. Years ago that scared him, especially when Rose left and Jackie kept claiming it was he who murdered her. But now, after all the lies, and all the apologies, the years of time they have spent loving the girl upstairs, they were closer now than they ever could be. He was just happy that she had kept him in her life.

"How is she?" He asks, pulling back to search the older woman's eyes, and all he sees is love there. Love for Rose, love for him, worry and doubt and anger. Her eyes look tired, much older than they used too.

"She's still out cold. But we don't know if it's the meds or still the shock to her body. Pete went into Torchwood and had their heads, he did. Really sweet actually, I had no idea he ever gone to see her. Anyways, he made them explain what they knew, which was nothing, typical." Slowly the trio begins to inch towards the elevator as Jackie continues. "They did more tests on her brain and found it was completely normal again. One day they think she has a brain tumor the size of Britain, the next she's right as rain, except for, you know, the coma."

He and Jake had been out of the country when Rose went into a coma and it wasn't till they got home before they got the message. Almost instantly he had called Jackie to find out when they could visit.

As Jackie pushes the button to floor seven, Mickey debates once again if he should tell Jackie about the things he's seen, the amber-eyed Rose who threatened him and scared him only half a year ago, her raw energy and her power. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut, like he always has, just like he promised Rose he would.

"They didn't even tell us she was in a coma at first! They kept sayin' she was just asleep when we asked. It was the third day I went back I figured it out. So Pete told 'em that if there was nothing completely wrong with her they didn't need to monitor her anymore. Well, they weren't too happy about that but they didn't put up much of a fight. They say she has a multiple personality disorder and prescribed her medication. I guess we didn't really need to move 'er, but I couldn't stand the thought of my baby cooped up in the basement of some high-tech alien building anymore."

"How'd you get her into a public hospital, Jackie? Especially since she has no identification," Jake asks as Mickey watches as the numbers go by as they ascend higher and higher. He doesn't want to see her. Not like this. It's times like these that he wishes the Doctor were here.

"You'd be surprised at how easy it was. I thought Pete would have had to donate to build a new wing or something extravagant, but the boys at NIFAL owed Pete a favor."

"NIFAL, that's New Identities for Alien Life, right?" Mickey asks, trying to pay attention.

"Right, well we just got tired of the government, so we went above them. Plus, because it was just a transfer from one private hospital to another and all the records had been filled out from Torchwood. How are they supposed to know they're false?" Jackie asks them.

The elevator dings to a stop and they exit the small room to tread down a long corridor. The walls are bare and bland, like the rooms they pass by oh so quietly. Mickey already hates it here, already feels death and loneliness seeping in.

They are finally outside Rose's room when they hear voices from within. Mickey can see that Jackie is surprised when she opens the door and screams in joy. There is Rose, awake and talking to Pete, who is holding Elle in his arms.

"Rose! Oh my precious baby girl!" Jackie squeals and grasps her close. Rose laughs weakly and tries to get free from Jackie's death grip.

"Mum… Mum, I can't breathe," Rose says hoarsely looking at Mickey. He has tears in his eyes and he knows it. There she is, speaking like nothing ever happened, that she doesn't have wild and crazy thoughts behind sometimes hazel, sometimes amber eyes.

Mickey breaks her gaze with Rose and looks to Pete and Elle. Rose follows his gaze there.

"Besides," she starts with such love and adoration, "You have someone else who better fits those shoes now."

"Don't be daft!" Jackie says, pulling back to look at Rose with a touch of anger in her voice, and her brow furrowed in concern. "You will ALWAYS be my baby girl, doesn't matter what it says on paper."

Rose smiles for her mother. "I was just about to be introduced, the doctors came and poked and prodded a bit right before you came in," she says letting her mother's hands go.

"Right." Pete says, "Rose Tyler, meet your baby sister, Elle Tyler."

Slowly he places the infant in Rose's arms then, hesitating, takes Rose's face in his hands and kisses her forehead. "You gave your mum and I quite a scare there, dear," he says quickly wiping the tears from his eyes.

Rose looks up at him a bit in shock by his apparent concern. The tension in the room seems thick until she smiles that lovely smile of hers and says, "Sorry… Dad… Try not to let it happen again."

Everyone is surprised by her reply causing a silence that seems to stretch out never ending. No one was expecting this, certainly not Mickey, and he needs to talk to her alone. He needs to understand, to have her explain what happened, to not feel completely helpless and to know that he did the right thing. It's again Jake who knows how best to handle the situation.

"Jackie, Pete, you must be starvin' after all this time here. Now you have a pair of fine and free babysitters, why don't I take you to that little fish shop down the street? You have to be sick of coffee and hospital food by now." Jake looks at Mickey with a brief but knowing smile.

"What are you blabberin' on about Jake? My Rose just woke up! We have lots to talk about…"

"Sounds fantastic Jake, I'll take Jackie down to the car, and you can finish up your goodbyes." Pete says, taking Jackie by the shoulders and steering her towards the door.

"Wait ONE MINUTE PETE TYLER, IF YOU THINK I'M LEAVIN' NOW YOU GOT ANOTHER THIN… OI! DON'T YOU THINK YOU CAN WIN ME OVER WITH THAT…" Jackie is yelling loud enough that Rose and Mickey can here her down the hall. But as her voice fades away into the distance, both know that they can let their collective breaths go and chuckle quietly.

"It's nice to know some things don't change."

Mickey doesn't know what to say, part of him wants to laugh, part wants to yell at Rose for scaring her mother and him so very much, part of him knows to just keep quiet, and that's the voice he ends up listening to in the end. No one will ever get the chance to call him Mickey the Idiot again.

Jake smiles at Rose and kisses her cheek before looking to Mickey. _Thank you,_ Mickey mouths to his friend before he leaves. Then there is silence, silence that is only disturbed by the soft cooing of Elle in Rose's arms and the machines monitoring her weak system.

He watches as Rose stares down lovingly at her younger sister.

"She's so beautiful," Rose says, the light hitting her in a way, that to Mickey, it looks like she and the baby are glowing. Elle is holding Rose's finger in her tiny fist as she looks back up at her with big blue eyes.

"Yeah, she is. Your mum and Pete didn't know what to name her so they let you. You were pretty far gone by then but we remembered that _Elle Enchanted_ was one of your favorite stories." He says.

"It was _Ella Enchanted_." Rose says behind a smile she cannot hold back.

"Oh… oh no… uh…." Mickey starts.

"Don't worry 'bout it, I won't tell a soul." She says looking back down to Elle, "Besides, Elle's kinda fitting."

"If she was Ella, then I would have to be the ugly stepsister." She says, a sad smile on her face, he watches as the smile turns to confusion as she thinks for a minute then turns back to him.

"Jesus, how long was I… away for?"

Mickey knew this was coming. This is the question she felt comfortable enough to ask him but no one else. This was the relationship that she desperately needed in this new world. So he wasn't going to sugar coat it, he wasn't going to lie to her.

"What's the last month you can still remember?" he asks her.

She has to think for a minute, and he watches as she mimics her mother's brow furrow. "I think the beginning of no… the middle of February."

"It's the beginning of September."

"I've been crazy for SIX MONTHS?" Rose asks shocked.

"You weren't crazy." He insists.

"Tell that to the doctors that prescribed me with medication for my apparent 'multi-personalities'." She croaks and Mickey grabs the glass of water off the stand beside her bed.

"Small sips, body's still getting used to it." He tells her, tipping the glass to her partially cracked lips. She does as she's told and is thankful for the help. As she sips, Mickey decides this is the best time to explain to her.

"On paper, you do have a multiple personality disorder, apparently they think the drugs they put you on before you went into the coma might have brought you back. At least that's how they justified they're work on you." He says.

"Thank you," she whispers once she is finished sipping the cool liquid. He sits down beside the bed, and grabs her hand between his own. He still can't believe she is awake, or coherent for that matter.

"We found your notes, Jake and I. Your mum wanted us to clear out your apartment, said she knew she shouldn't have let you lived alone. So there we were, packing it all up, and we found them under your bed. The math Rose, I don't quite know what the calculations are for, but they are absolute brillian'."

"Burn them," she whispers, pulling her hand away to hold Elle with more support.

"What? Why? You obviously made them for a reason." Mickey says confused by her reaction. Why would she want him to destroy months of work? Work that obviously meant a lot to her.

"I did make them for a reason, but they've already fulfilled their purpose. Burn them, please, they'll only cause more harm than good."

"How did you have time to do 'em? Don't you even want to see before I burned them?"

"They don't say anything I don't already know in here," she says holding her heart.

He thinks it's odd she refers to her heart when talking of complex mathematical theories, but to each his (or her for that matter) own.

"How do you feel?" He asks inching closer to her bed. He looks down at Elle, who is now asleep in Rose's arm.

"Like I've been dragged down 10 kilometers of bad road, but other than that, my head feels a lot better." She says, as she looks down to the baby asleep in her arms.

He nods, and finally gets up onto the bed beside her and holds her. Rose welcomes the contact and there they are, just the three of them. Mickey isn't surprised when he feels warm drops of tears against his arm, or the sound of muffled sniffling underneath his chin, until there are no tears left to spill. After the tears, the only sound in the room is that of the baby's breathing as she sleeps in Rose's arms and the machines that monitor her.

"Rose, I gotta ask…" He says sometime later.

"Mmm?" She asks sleepily.

"Did… I mean no offense, but is this because of…."

"No," She interrupts, but there are no signs of the other angry amber eyed girl who would have answered before.

"Then, why'd it go away?" He asks her.

"I don't know. I don't even know if it is really gone, I can't really remember a lot, except for one thing."

"What's that?" He asks and pulls away from her to search her eyes. He still is surprised to find no trace of amber; no glowing that rises from the depths within her. All there is is soft chocolate brown and green, framed by long lashes.

"He's coming."

* * *

Two weeks later, it happens again. 

He is listening to music, his feet resting on the top of the TARDIS's consol leaning back in a worn out chair. One of the arms of his spectacles is located firmly between his lips as he squints at the papers in his hand. It is then that Martha walks in putting her earrings on.

"That drumming! It's so exotic." She says about the various drum beats and wispy whipping sounds.

"Mmm…" he replies, reading what can only be described as papers upon papers of complex mathematical equations.

"I've heard it before," She adds, closing her eyes to try and pinpoint some memory behind her dark brown eyes.

"Yes, yes you have." He tells her, replacing the specs on his face and dropping his feet down from the consol and placing the papers where his feet had just rested.

"It's from the Ruebella Quadrant." She says, so sure.

"No." He says taking the spectacles off and getting out of his chair. He comes and sits on the consol in front her.

"Karmadexterilia nebula?"

"Nope." He says, a large smiling spreading like a wildfire across his face. "It's the Blue Man Group."

She frowns and slaps his arm as he laughs manically at her.

"You're a bloody git, you are!" she says somewhat annoyed.

"Yes, dear." He says somberly and she huffs angrily at the pet-name that is a subtle reminder of their union.

"That's it! You can go out yourself today! I've had about enough of you." She says, throwing her hands up in the air and storming away. She does it a lot lately, the more she stresses over her medical textbooks, the more edgy she is, at least, that's what he's found so far.

"Does that mean the honeymoon is over?" He calls after her.

"YES!!!" She yells over her shoulder as she stomps off to her room. Getting the last of his giggles out, he realizes he was being a bit of a git. Plus, he never got to ask her where the papers he was studying came from. Though he's pretty sure she wouldn't know either. Even if she is brilliant He decides that he's going to do something nice for her, but what? Even with a ship that could travel through all of time and space, he has difficulty thinking of appropriate gifts for women. Perhaps, that male-trait expands across the universe. He thinks about it for some time and remembers that the last planet they were on she was in awe of the local birds and their plumage. She had spent hours learning as much as she could about the them, even going as far as to ask if they could take one as a pet. Maybe he will take her to the best animal shelter/zoo in the universe. The only problem is that it's located in a fairly familiar place.

Barcelona.

Not the _city _Barcelona, the _planet._

He hesitates for all of three seconds before shaking his head and beginning to plot out a course. Rose never went to the zoo there. They didn't have enough time between shopping, theatre and getting caught in the middle of a huge interplanetary smuggling scheme.

They would never run into each other, but just to be sure he set the TARDIS to arrive a five years before Rose and he ever got there. It's the best he can do if he wants to keep the bird section at the zoo in consideration, after all it will be closed down a few years after that, he can't remember why, but he knows that it's bad enough that he doesn't want to try.

He goes and coerces Martha out from her room where she is pouting.

"Where are we?" she asks, as he pulls her towards the gates of the bird exhibit a slight look of wonder in her eye.

It's enough to make him know the trip is worth it. Together, for the next hour, they gaze at and watch the most beautiful birds in the universe fly, dance, sing and play.

"I thought you would never support a zoo." She tells him as they walk towards an ice cream stand.

"I don't. This isn't really a zoo, though it is set up like one. It's actually a shelter, donations are taken at the door and that pays for the animals recoveries. Most are initially brought here when they are hurt, ill, or have nowhere else to go. Some have lost their habitats due to war or civilization, so they have them build large habitats here, once they are healed, they are reintroduced into their home habitats, if they still exist."

Both eat their ice creams in silence when an all too familiar voice rings out from behind them.

"There you are!" she calls and he freezes in terror to his spot. He knows that voice, he knows it all too well, even after six months. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up, but he has to turn around, has to see if she's really there, whether she's supposed to be or not. If he was unsure before he turned, he is definitely in shock now. There she is, blonde hair curled and pulled back, framing her face like a halo.

She's wearing the same jumper she wore that day years ago, black with pink trim, and with straps all over the place. Her soft greenish brown eyes are inquisitive, but he can already see she is not surprised to see him here. He can smell her from a distance, salt and that citrus fruit. She has been needing him, it's soft against his nostrils, nothing like he's used too, and he can't tell if it's just been too long or if it really is like she's far, far away.

"Doctor?" Martha whispers, placing a hand gently on his arm since she can see the tension through his entire body. He looks down at Martha's hand and up to her face, and it is then Martha can see all the pain and love in his eyes.

"Please, Martha don't say a thin…"

"Doctor, where have you been?" Rose asks approaching the two, looking over Martha curiously.

"Rose." He whispers a thousand emotions linger on one word. He can tell he's staring at her with an intensity, which is not helping the situation. But he can't help it, how in the universe did this happen? How does he explain this one? And where are the Reapers coming to claim everything they can for creating such a paradox? Why, why did he think he could get away with bringing Martha to Barcelona??

"Pick up a friend then?" Rose asks, a little insecure, and he doesn't need to smell her to know, he can hear it in her voice. "Seems a bit… touchy-feely, no?" with a nod to how Martha is holding securely onto the Doctor's arm, as well as holding his hand.

The Doctor doesn't know what to say, before Martha whispers, "Oh here we go."

"Excuse me?" Rose asks, her eyes narrowing. That spicy flare of anger hits him gently, not as strong as her words. He had forgotten it till now, the scent of her anger, like green, red, orange and yellow peppers, and wild daisies.

"Nothing!" Martha exclaims letting go of the Doctor, "Just… uh a friend of the Doctor's," shoving her hands in her pockets.

Rose laughs and it's the most beautiful sound he has heard in a long time. He often has imagined what it sounded like after he felt the memory of it slipping away. It's not as he imagined, like the tinkle of bells or the melodies of symphonies come and gone. It's just a simple throaty laugh, and its then he remembers once you really got her going she'd snort.

"What's so funny?" Martha asks, a bit agitated.

"Nothing, just… you don't seem like the Doctor's type, is all… you seem a bit domestic." Rose says, a touch condescendingly.

"His type? Domestic? Really, that's odd… since I'm his WIFE."

The Doctor wonders if it's possible for both his hearts to give out or stop simultaneously. The entire park is silent as he watches, paralyzed, how Roses face contorts from laughter to confusion to anger and pain. Tears well in her eyes before she turns to run. All he can smell is salt, the salt of the earth, the salt of the popcorn being popped a little ways away, and the salt of her tears.

"Rose, no!" He screams and goes to run after her. He has to explain to some degree, damage control is not an option; it's crucial for the survival of this universe.

As he watches her turn a corner, he is right behind her. As he turns round the same corner, he stops in surprise to see he's run into a dead end. Placing his hands on top of his head, he looks around confused as to where she's gone. Anger wells inside of him. Anger he directs at Martha, himself and Rose. But it's not enough, there is more and before he knows it fury, rage, hate all boil over the edge and he picks up the nearest trash receptacle and throws it into the dead end. And just like it began, it recedes and he's left with grief, as he sits down on the nearest park bench waiting for the world to end.

It's when it doesn't, that he is actually surprised.

Rose should never have been here, not just because she never had time to be here, but also because it was a five years after they were ever here, there is just no reasonable possibility, and yet she was. That made no sense, how would she recognize him, if it were five years earlier then she would have been looking for his previous self. If it wasn't supposed to be a five years earlier then why was she wearing the same outfit? Why did she disappear? Things were not adding up.

He is thinking about all these things as someone sits down beside him.

"I'm so sorry." Martha offers.

"I know," He replies.

"I didn't…"

"I know," He says again.

"Was she always like that?" she asks.

He thinks about her question. The answer is no, no she wasn't. Because, even with Reinette, after he thought about how she must have felt, how she had still smiled bravely and pretended nothing was wrong, when he realized he never noticed until after he had done what he had done, and even then it was too late to bring it up, by then they were on to a new adventure, on to a new world where they would have new challenges and problems. Rose was non-confrontational usually to a fault, at least when it concerned him, and he knew that he had made her that way. Not intentionally, but there had been a time when she had no qualms questioning his decisions or ethics, until that slowly faded away and she allowed him to do whatever he needed.

"No, she wasn't." He says standing up from the bench, "This doesn't makes sense! Where did she go? Why was she here? Why is time not imploding on itself?" He says pulling Martha to her feet.

"Maybe she was never really here?" Martha asks.

"It's something to think about," the Doctor says, tilting his head to the side in agreement, then scratches his ear, his trench blowing in the wind. "But then that leads to me wondering why we are sharing the same hallucinations."

"Maybe they're not hallucinations, maybe something happened so she didn't remember this."

He gives her a look like she's a bit daft, and he finds it oh-so-charming, which is a look she never really likes, when his eyes change with the idea that sparked behind them. He's not looking at her anymore, and she's thankful because when he gets that look in his eyes it always makes her want to shift within her skin. It's the intensity behind it, the knowledge, wisdom, and passion of hundreds of years.

"Or maybe she doesn't remember because she's not a past Rose." He says, grabbing Martha's hand and starts walking back to the TARDIS. If he wasn't in such a hurry, he may have noticed the little red headed girl peering out at him from behind a tree.

Instead, he just files it and goes on his merry way.


	5. Chapter Four

I have chapter art... did I ever mention that? I don't really know if I did. But I do... it's on

hxxp://s124.photobucket. com/albums/p17/wolfmoonouroborus/ the xx's to tt's obviously.

-kiki

* * *

"Tell me a story," Elle says. 

"You know my stories get me in trouble with your mum." Rose tells the five-year-old, tucking in the large comforter around the smaller form. The bed is enormous in comparison to the child in it, but it has never been an issue when she spends the night at her 'cousin' Rose's house.

"She thinks the stories make you sad," Elle says, "But I told her you like telling me stories, and that I promise I won't make you tell the sad ones." She says nodding her small ginger head as a promise. Rose stares into her blue eyes, and it takes her off guard that at first they don't remind her of her mothers, but of someone else's.

"Yeah? And what did she say to that?" Rose asks fluffing her cousin's pillow. She sighs as she realizes that it's hard to even force herself to say cousin in her head, even after all these years.

"She say's that you will never forget if you keep telling me." Rose thinks about this and sits down on the bed beside her. "But teacher says forgetting is a bad thing."

"Why did your teacher tell you forgetting was bad?" Rose inquires amused, stroking a lock out of her hair.

"I dunno, she just tells us 'don't forget' lots." Elle replies.

"I see…I shouldn't tell you a story if your mum doesn't want me to."

"Please, Rose! Please! I promise I won't tell her. Just a little one." Elle asks putting her hands together and trying to sit up. Sighing, Rose places her hands on the small girl's frame and pushes her gently back against the mountain of pillows.

"_Rose!" He screamed to her, and she could see the fear in his eyes. She is slipping and he cannot get to her, in less than a few seconds, she's going to slip into the void…_

"_HOLD ON!"_

"Alright, I'll tell you one, but you can't tell your mum okay?" Rose says, and Elle nods her head vigorously in glee. Rose smiles and starts the way she always does.

"Once upon a time, there was a man who lived in a blue box and a girl with blonde hair who traveled with him. It was a day like every other day when the man who lived in a blue box and the girl decided to go on an adventure…" She starts, "But not before the girl went to visit her mum…"

Later, after a few tears and a good cuddle, Rose sits at her kitchen table sipping a cup of tea. The rain outside her flat beats against the window, making her feel nostalgic.

She had run out of stories to tell Elle, and so she had told the last one she had left.

Going to the window, she rests her head against the cool glass, staring out into the night. The stars are faded against a dark blue tapestry, and she wishes she could muster the nerve to use the telescope she bought last year.

"_How long did you wait?" He asked her, after holding her in his arms so tightly._

"_Five and a half hours."_

She had waited, waited knowing that he had made his choice. Waited knowing that in the end the fairytale ended the way it was suppose to, happily ever after, and she had been expendable. But he had come back to her, she had still been apart of the ever after even if she hadn't been the princess.

It didn't work that way this time.

Five and a half hours had come and gone more than five and a half years earlier. But still she waited. She waited because it was a base instinct within her. She waited because although she didn't remember much of her time as a Torchwood patient (instead of an employee), she did remember one thing. She knew he would come. She had done something to make it possible. What, was one of the things she did NOT know. And so, she waited, because it helped her get through the monotonous days.

She wondered, was this how he felt with Reinette? Everything he could ever want at his fingertips. Promise of a family, domestic bliss, a wonderful position in society, the love of someone special, and yet he still longed for the sky? She doesn't even know to this day how long he had spent with her, she never had the courage to ask, never the heart, even if it was broken. Had he been there for her a few hours? Days? Months before he came back for her and Mickey? Had he thought of her at all? Or had he succumbed to the facts, the way everyone else expects her too. He loved them all, she knows it,

She finds she rarely sleeps now, and when she does she dreams of him.

And, of course, the ginger child.

_They are lying in a park staring up at the stars from the comfort of his trench, the way they did back on New Earth, and she has her head on his chest with his arm around her. She had got there by telling him innocently that she had wanted to hear his double heartbeat, and at first that was all it was. However, as they talked and the rhythmic beat drummed against her head she forgot to pull away, and he forgot to remind her. In the silence, she thinks of her mom's last words before they left the flat to go for a walk._

'_Rose,' Jackie had said, 'Don't forget about who and what he is.'_

_To which, Rose had frowned._

'_Don't give me that daft look!' Jackie started, 'God knows he's wormed his way into my heart like the little weasel he is. All I'm sayin' is that I know it's easy to forget, and you can't. You can't forget who and what he is. You can't forget who and what you are. If ya do, you'll never remember your way back."_

"_He's not Peter Pan, and I'm not Wendy, mum." She said giving her mother a strange look, "An' we're jus' goin' for a walk. You act as though this is the last time you're going to see me."_

"_I never know with you, Rose." Jackie sighed. "I just want you to be careful, and protect yourself, alright?"_

"_I will mum, promise. 'N I'll never forget, okay?" _

She finds it funny and somewhat ironic her mom now wishes she would, how can she ever forget? How could she fail to remember the way he held her, the way he smelt when she was close, the way he looked at her and made her laugh. She knew then that her mother had known what was really going on, before she was willing to admit it to herself.

"_There's so many…" She whispers against him, still laying there under the stars._

"_Billions upon billions," he lazily adds._

"_It's funny to think that humans believe they are the only intelligent life out there," She murmurs. He giggles slightly, her head bouncing against his chest. She lifts it to look at him._

"_Something funny?" She asks him curious._

"_Yes… No… Never mind."_

"_No, tell me!" she begs him, her hand resting against his chest, he lifting his head a touch to look at her._

"_It's mean… and… not very nice? Yes, I've decided you probably don't want to know. Mum's the word, and all that."_

_She just lays her head back down against him, her hands resting against the crisp fabric of his suit. She knows he'll eventually tell her, he always does. She just has to leave the topic alone for a little while._

"_How many have you visited?" she asks him._

"_Not enough, and too many." He answers while he strokes her hair._

"_Show me." _

_He points to a random star in the sky, "That one…" and then another, "That one, that one over there on the tail end. _

"_The little one?" she asks trying to figure out where he's pointing._

"_Both, actually." He tells her and she smiles against him. She breaths deep and smells the faint scent of sandalwood and pears._

"_What about that one?" She asks pointing._

"_Sure, when it existed." He tells her._

"_Existed?" _

"_Rose, stars are usually balls of gas burning billions of light years away. The majority of the planets we see have died, moved on, but their light is still traveling through time, lighting up the sky. Most new stars don't even reach earth until they extinguish."_

"_That's beautiful," She whispers again._

"_That's science." He tells her._

_She thinks of the science of stars for a few minutes, and how it makes her think of all the poets and artists in the world who died before their works were regarded beautiful. She thinks of sharing this thought with him, and realizes he's probably already thought something along the same lines way before she ever entered his life._

"_What about that one?" she asks, breaking the silence. A tiny dot in the sky smaller than any other around it. She wonders if he'll be able to tell what she's pointing at. "Did you ever go there?" _

"_Yes." He says very carefully, before adding, "Lived there even." _

_Surprised she jumps up and looks at him, smile breaking her face in two. "You? Livin' on one planet for a period of time? When was this?" _

_She notices he will not look at her, that his face is carefully guarded when he responds, "When I was a child, that's my home planet." _

_Her heart sinks, "Oh God, I'm so sorry," she offers, her head dipping in the crevice between his shoulder and his upper body. _

"_Nah, don't be," He tells her, fingers massaging her, calming her._

"_What was its name?" She asks._

"_What, I never told you?" he asks her curiously with a hint of surprise._

"_No,"_

"_Its name was Gallifrey." He tells her._

"_How can we see it, if it was never really in existence?" she asks him, looking up from her position, and she watches as his features contort to confusion._

"_I mean, the time war, if it happen at all times in history, wiping it out…"_

"_Well it existed. The Daleks couldn't have wiped it out of space and time completely, without it leaving its imprint behind. The light you barely see is its fingerprint._

_Not wanting to push it, she doesn't ask much more._

_She imagines what it would be like if she could see earth's light from a distance but know that there was no way she could come back, no matter how brightly it beckoned to her. She shivers at the thought and he holds her tighter as she rests her head against his chest once more._

"_My entire childhood, all I wanted was to fly away and never return. That was the only thing that made me go to the Academy. I used to dread going back even as an adult and when I went to war, I remember thinking that I would give anything to see it unharmed."_

"_Well… within reason." He adds, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze._

"_Academy?" she questions._

"_Not all Gallifreyans can pilot a TARDIS or are Time Lords and Ladies for that matter. Yes many, many are, but you can be a Gallifreyan without being a Time Lord. But you have to be a Time Lord to be able to pilot a TARDIS."_

"_If all Boogles are Battuns, and some Battuns are Trandles, all Trandles must be Boogles" She says._

"_What with the what now?" he queries._

"_It's an A-level question." _

"_I thought you never took your A-levels." He says._

"_I didn't… I just studied for them. Never did get that question though." _

"_Well no wonder, I know for a fact that not all Boogles are Battuns, and absolutely no Trandles are Battuns… they come from a completely different galaxy!" He exclaims._

"_I can never tell when you're being serious." She tells him._

"_Is that a bad thing?" he asks her._

_She doesn't know how to answer, so she doesn't. "So basically you were the cream of the crop because you were a Time Lord, and a Pilot?" _

"_Not… exactly." He says somewhat guardedly._

"_What does that mean, not exactly?" _

"_It means just that, not exactly."_

"_Not exactly can mean a lot of things Doctor, I could say I'm not exactly an astronaut."_

"_Exactly!" he says, squeezing her closer to him, happy to think the conversation had found it's conclusion._

"_I did just tell you I can never tell when you're being serious right?" she asks._

"_Yes, yes you did." He says nonchalantly._

"_Just checking." She replies, yawning._

_They lie there in silence, neither one yet ready to move, before he says, "I kind of, borrowed the TARDIS."_

"_You what?" she says lifting her head and placing her hand on his chest for support, as she stares down at him with surprise and shock._

"_I borrowed the TARDIS."_

"_How exactly did you 'borrow' the TARDIS?" she asks him, her eyes narrowing at him, waiting for him to spill the beans. But he wont look her in the eye, as he places his arms under his head to cradle himself, but she leans her head into her hand and rests her elbow in the space in between. Her hair falls onto his face, but he still looks away onward._

"_I merely took it and when no one was looking and planned to return it once finished making use of it." _

"_You STOLE the TARDIS?!" She squeals loudly raising her body even further from the ground, higher above him. _

"_Borrowed… or did you miss that part?" He says, turning his gaze towards her, both his hands come down now resting on his chest._

"_You took a TARDIS!" _

"_Well I wouldn't have had to if they would have given me one." He says reassuringly._

"_And why, wouldn't they have given you one?" _

"_Because the Gallifreyan's were a stuffy, grumpy, boring race." _

"_and…" she adds, knowing that if she keeps prodding he'll tell her the real reason, and she knows this is something that she is allowed to prod about, she can tell from the tone of his voice and his demeanor as they banter back and forth._

"_Because they don't like my charming sense of humor?"_

"_and…" she adds once more for effect._

"_Because I never took the piloting test?" he says, but phrases it more like a question, a question that asks her if this is the information she's been hassling him for, and the answer is yes._

"_Oh my God… you don't even have your a-levels?" She says in shock, turning away from his face._

"_Well I wouldn't put it THAT way…" he says sitting up and reaching for her hand._

"_I'm never going to let you live this down… you have to know that." She says turning to face him and smiling wickedly._

"_Oh please, after everything we've been through do you really think I support standardized testing." He says dropping her hand and leaning back on his own, supporting his weight as they sit up._

"_Well now I know why, you flunked them." _

"_I did not flunk, I just did not show, there's a difference."_

"_So you're saying you slept in…" _

"_No… no… well… maybe…" he says grabbing for her and pulling her down with him onto the ground._

"_It really was because the time lords were boring and strict. Even when I was young I was an outcast, I knew even in school that no matter how hard I tried I was going to be the black sheep. I doubt I was going to get a piloting license no matter how hard I tried, and back then, the grew TARDIS' like they grow oranges. They barely noticed for the longest of times."_

"_But they did… eventually notice."_

"_Yes. And let's just say, I have been exiled to earth more than once." He tells her, and pulls her closer to him because she is beginning to shiver. He moves his hand from her hair to her shoulder, and he rubs it up and down._

"_So, Earth has been your home before, too?"_

"_For a very brief time that seemed like ages, but yes, it has." He informs her._

"_So, you couldn't… see yourself… I suppose, staying again." She asks, barely loud enough for a normal person to hear. But she knows this isn't the case with him. _

_She knows he heard her. The question hangs in the air and turns out to be rhetorical. She sighs, and snuggles closer to him just happy with the contact she can get now. Traces of lives never lived flutter through her mind like the soft wisps of memories. She sees an Altar, a child, his hand sliding off her shoulder as he slides into her effortlessly. She sees herself dying an old woman, then she sees she's dying by being sucked into a black hole, her outliving him and visiting his grave with a child against her hip, a stranger saying hello, and she is so sure she knows him. They all linger leaving small imprints in her soul, but she used to them now, small remembrances from when he died for her. The only reason she knows what they are is because she got up the courage to ask._

"_Isn't ironic that we always want the things that we can't have?" she asks him, knowing how deeply he misses Gallifrey._

"_Ironic? Are you sure? Isn't that just coincidence?" he asks her._

"_No, I'm sure it's irony… wait…" she thinks._

"_Do you really want to go into grammar and language dynamics with me, Rose Tyler?" he questions._

"_I always hated irony; it has such a vague meaning and no on uses it correctly." She huffs._

"_If it's any consolation, I know they abolish it within the 24th century." He offers._

"_Aww, yes that does help, thank you." She tells him, "Irony, metaphors and similes, I messed up all three of 'em. Never was a good poet." _

"_I always loved oxymorons. Things like bittersweet, and educated guess." He says._

"_Living death." She adds._

"_Dry Ice."_

"_False hope."_

"_Intelligent Life." _

_There is silence, and it finally clicks what he was laughing about earlier._

"_Oh, you ARE a right bastard!" she says, getting up out of her comfortable snuggle and he is laughing manically at her. She goes to attack him, lying on the ground and he rolls her over so she's pinned beneath him._

"_Nice try Rose Tyler," he murmurs in her ear and she can smell him still that faint smell of sandalwood, pears, and vanilla. But there's something else there, something stronger, it smells like cinnamon. Her mouth waters from it as he pulls away from her ear with a devilish grin on his face. He gets up and runs away, and she finds she needs to catch her breath before running after him._

She sips the tea once more before looking at the clock, which reads 4 am. She has to be at work in two hours. Sighing, she goes to her medicine cabinet in search of the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed. Once opened, she searches for the bottle of pills amongst the twenty other bottles decorating her medicine cabinet. She finds the one she is looking for and closes the mirror.

It is then she sees her reflection in the mirror.

It surprises her that she doesn't recognize the girl looking back, after all, not much has really changed. Her hair is perfect, there are no roots showing beyond the platinum blonde, her skin unmarred. She doesn't look a day over nineteen, except for small minor changes. Her eyes are tired looking, foggy even, and dark underneath from lack of sleep. She can't remember the last time she smiled, that she tries to force it and feels a bit silly. Sighing, she looks at the bottle in her hands, and then throws it in the trash. Opening the cabinet, she begins to throw all the bottles away until there is nothing there but a toothbrush and some paste.

Closing the mirror, she smiles sadly, knowing she made the right decision. No more anti-depressants, sleeping pills, or MPD pills. She has known in her heart for a long time now that she hasn't needed them and that she has been taking them as apart of the routine. Switching off the bathroom light, she goes into the bedroom where her sister is already asleep, and climbs up beside her, wrapping her arms around her small form. Tomorrowshe thinks, tomorrow she'll take the day off. Take Elle shopping, maybe get a haircut and strip the out the blonde. After all, tomorrow is a new day.

And she has run out of stories to tell.

* * *

He is standing there, looking at the orange sun fade behind the trees in the distance, creating a pink backdrop against a blue sky. He sighs and breathes in the deep crisp air, while pushing a little girl on a tire swing, which hangs from a single tree in the middle of the meadow. He watches as her hair flows longer as he pushes her higher and retracts as she descends back down to him. 

"Why am I here?" he asks confused.

"Because you want to be," he hears her whisper to him, "There is a reason why Earth is your favorite planet. Not just because of the humans or the beasts, or how the sun is orange and you had never seen the colour blue before, as it hung there in the sky. It's not even because of how the sun tastes when it's setting or rising, like an overripe peach."

"It is because it is in my blood." They say in unison.

"Why are you here, then?"

"Because you are." She tells him simply, and he continues to push her higher so she can reach the horizon. He cannot tell if they are conversing aloud or if the conversation has been in his head all along, and he thinks it's because he cannot see her face.

Then, there it is, and he doesn't know how he never saw the creature before, but it sits there like it has been watching since the dawn of time, and will sit there waiting till the end of it.

A wolf.

"Why is she here?" he asks her, already knowing the answer before he feels her voice wisps through his mind.

"Because," she says, "The wolf is trying to find you."

It's then he watches it licks its teeth and he can hear a faint howl in the wind.

He wakes.


	6. Chapter Five

Rose is sitting at the board table looking over two separate documents, both different ideas on how to deal with the immigration of aliens coming to Earth. One talked of slowly cutting down on how many immigrate in until they reach a certain quota and no others were allowed in, perhaps reaching out to other countries and seeing if they would be willing to being their own Alien immigration policy. Another document believed that if they did it that way, it would take too long, and before they knew it, more then 30 of Britain's population would be of alien decent. The document said that they didn't have the funds or resources to keep bringing them in, and that essentially if they did, the economy would crash.

She sighs, looking over the documents, then looks back up at the faces surrounding the table who waited with baited breath on what her decision was going to be. As the new head of Torchwood she knew that there was going to be some decisions that were going to be difficult to make, she just didn't know it was going to be this soon.

"I think that over the last few years that relations with surrounding species has been relatively stable, and on good terms. It is because of our immigration policy that we have had such good response from surrounding species', and therefore lack of war or complications. However, I do think that the interest of Britain is the more important point here, and if we do try as Dr. Sleven says, we will end up with a fall in our economy, something we cannot afford to have happen if we plan on continuing further venture's into our research. Therefore, it is with regret that I have decided that immigration has to come to a halt for the time being. Meeting adjourned."

But there's already outcry in the room, and no one is willing to leave just yet. Sleven, a young doctor from NIFAL stands up to say something.

"Director Tyler, I think the decision you made is absurd, how are we suppose to turn away alien life now, especially with the Flolock planets at civil war. Many refugees are coming here to escape."

"I am aware of the Flolock wars, and I do have deep sympathies towards them, but it's my job to put the human race first, and I feel that it is necessary to do this, even for a brief amount of time, before we can come to a more humane way of dealing with this."

"Humane? Humane would be to still accept them, by the time our funds are reimbursed to what they were before millions of Flolocks will have died in combat or as bystanders. Where is your Empathy? Your compassion?"

_"Well?" she asks him. _

"My empathy?" he returns turning on her, his ears bright red in anger, his eyes cold blue, before shaking his head and turning away.

"Look I've said I'm sorry how many times about your stupid little boyfriend, What do you want from me?" he asks her, as he continues to walk away from her, down one of the long corridors of the TARDIS. Adam had gone off exploring without permission and she begged him to help her find him.

"It's not just that, you almost killed that Dalek today, it wasn't going to do anything but die, it didn't even hurt me but you were ready to not give it the chance to do that!"

He stops and she runs right into the back of him, before he turns and looks down at her with eyes sad but so distant that she regrets bringing it up.

"You are so brave, and so strong. And yet you are still so naïve." He tells her, tears welling in his eyes. They stand their in silence for a minute, while she shifts her weight from foot to foot before he opens his eyes again and he's retracted into himself even more. She knows now she has done this, and worries that she has ruined something between them, broken some chord that kept them together. It's then she remembers the Dalek's words as he negotiated the release of the bulkhead. "What use are emotions if you cannot save the woman you love?" She bites her lip waiting for him to speak, wondering what he really feels right now.

"One of these days, Rose Tyler, you are going to be faced with a decision that you know the right answer to, one that will not make sense to anyone. They will see you as a monster, the same way you look at me right now, but I know you'll do the right thing. You always do. Where's my Empathy? I see it when I look into your eyes."

He gives her a brief smile, one that her own eyes well up over, and takes his hand out of instinct as he turns to walk again. He accepts it, and doesn't say anything as she sniffs away the tears that escaped.

"Meeting is adjourned Sleven, I have already made my decision."

Slowly the group of people begin to get up from their seats muttering lightly to each other and has Rose turns to leave she can hear Sleven say, "Her father never would have let this happen."

She stands there, waiting, as she hears a co-worker of Sleven's make a noise of agreement. "Nothing has been the same, she only got the job because of her father, she obviously has no idea what she's doing."

Turning back, she sees that it was McHolly making the comment.

"Mr. McHolly, if you'd be so kind as to join me in my office in ten minutes, I'd like to discuss something with you." She calls out over top of the mumbling, and it's obvious to everyone she heard their remarks. She turns and walks out of the boardroom, and down the corridor. As she walks back to her office, her heels clicking against the cold floor, she thinks of how she's going to set the example. This isn't the first time she's heard comments like this. Torchwood is her home, her life, most don't realize that nothing escapes her ears here.

Now that NIFAL is going to be on hiatus for some time, she's going to have to start laying people off. She's thinking she'll start with McHolly.

She just hopes she's making the right decision.

* * *

Martha is a light sleeper and usually does not need a lot of it either. However, she must admit she's usually not used to contemplative and curious aliens waking her at what she is sure to be 4am. She feels him, like a weight against her mind, pressing gently and nudging her awake. When she opens her eyes, she sees him sitting there right beside her bed, staring off into the distance, with his feet upon her end table.

"That's the matter with your species," he tells her, "Some of your greatest downfalls have been due to someone's desperate need to sleep."

"Yes, but it's also one of our greatest resources. After all, dreams are where everyone can be creative." She says, rubbing her eyes and beginning to prop herself up on her elbows.

"That's what you think, but I once knew a fellow who had not one iota of creative nature in his entire being. When he dreamed, he dreamed of watching himself sleep. It was a tragedy really…"

"Doctor…" She interrupts knowing that using this tone will get around to the point.

"Can you imagine? Dreaming of being asleep? Although there are some life forms that all they dream of doing is work. Work a job, work to survive, even their subconscious side thinks of these dreary jobs. I don't know what's worse, those poor buggers who dream of mundane things, or the ones who dream of amazing and magical places, and that's the only time they experience it. Then they feel the need to let everyone know, just to prove they aren't mundane pathetic wretches. The day I say the words 'I had the strangest dream, let me tell you about it,' is the day I park the TARDIS and retire."

She waits because eventually he will get there; he just needs to work his way into it. She knows two things about him so far.

1) Never presume anything with or about him.  
2) He likes to stick things in his mouth.

He has come to her because he needs to think aloud, he needs her to throw random little comments into the clogs of his clock that at first jar his thinking. But he's a fascinating creature, and the one thing she notices that sets him apart from most humans, is when she does send those little wrenches his way, it isn't detriment to the process, but instead helpful. He sighs a heavy sigh before he starts.

"Why are you here?" She asks bluntly, too tired to let him get around to making his point.

"I had the strangest dream, let me tell you about it," he says, defeated, and goes about explaining the little details of his dream and how it all connects back to Rose.

"I don't get it, I can't grasp it and it doesn't even make any sense! If it was a future Rose, what is she doing in this universe? Because then, my dear Martha, then we have a serious problem because this universe and that universe had a quarrel quite sometime ago and can't play nice. If a tear or hole ever existed between them, they would implode into themselves and the void before you could say 'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious'."

"I never could say that word." Martha says smiling slightly

"What? Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?" He asks her, to which she nods her head.

"Couldn't because you were forbidden to say it on pain of death? Or you just couldn't pronounce it?" he asks.

"Pronounce it."

"Now THAT is a tragedy, forget about my good friend who dreams of himself asleep, or the pathetic wretch who is always dying to tell you about their strangest dream. It's a sad day when I meet a human who cannot say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. What? You never practiced? Never saw it? What's the problem then?" He asks her removing his feet from her end table and sitting up properly, his spectacles going ajar.

"I didn't realize it was a prerequisite to board the TARDIS."

"Well I think it should be, but only after I remedy the problem. After all, once you can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, you can say anything, like Raxacoricofallapatorious. Then I won't be so limited to where I take you.

"How will you remedy the problem, Doctor?" she asks him.

"We will just have to watch Mary Poppins until your eyes bleed and all you can do is sing every situation that you are faced with in a delightful and somewhat educational song." He tells her very seriously, while removing his spectacles from his face, to clean them.

"Sounds like a solid plan." She smiles.

"A plan is just a tiny prayer to father time." He says placing them back on his nose.

"That's from a song, can't remember what song, but know I've heard it."

"They messed up the Time bit, Time has no sex, but if it did, it would be female. Time has a cruel sense of humor like most women I've met." He tells her.

"You know, for an alien, you really know a lot about earth pop-culture." She decides.

"I know a lot about a lot of things, I never once claimed it was always relevant." He answers, rubbing his face.

"Another word then?"

"Another word what?"

"Another word that I could say before the entire universe implodes?"

"Well, how about Bob then, before you could say 'Bob's your uncle.' I also wanted to know someone with an uncle named Bob." He finishes, placing his finger under his chin, tilting it so.

"Does she have to be from that Alternate universe?" Martha asks him.

"What do you mean?" he asks her.

"What I mean is, you're the one who is always saying there is more than one Alternate universe out there. For ever action there is a reaction, and that is no different for time and space, for every option of a decision there is an alternate universe. So there has to be, like a million different universes just for Rose alone. I can only imagine how many universes there are out there just from you. Then, if you add the universes created by every other human into the picture, and that's just for earth alone… my god, the possibilities."

"Look at you, little miss physicist, deducting and hypothesizing and makin' theories. Really, it's quite brilliant, although it's a little simpler then that. You have to have some small knowledge of someone or something for it to be altered and created in a new universe, so Rose would only exist in universes where she has touched people."

"Well, you certainly broadened that scope by taking her traveling now, didn't you?" Martha tells him.

He sits there in silence, his fingers temple in front of his mouth, his specs hiding his gaze in the dark.

"Look all I'm saying is, I get that Rose's new universe and this one can no longer exist with tears between them. But what about the billions upon billions of other universes?" She asks him.

He looks at her and blinks.

His mouth agape ever so slightly, he blinks again. He realizes this seems all too familiar so he closes his mouth before he drools all over his jacket.

"Martha, how did you become such a bloody genius?" he says getting up from his chair and jumping onto her bed. He grabs her and hugs her intensely while kneeling, before pulling back.

"Just born that way, I guess. Or maybe it was the years upon years of school and medical training… Wait, what are you thinking?" She asks him suspiciously.

"Rose may be trying to reach me by dangerously ripping holes through the fabric of time." He says getting up from her bed and stands above her. Soon he will leave her to sleep to do some testing; after all, he's on a mission now.

"That doesn't sound like Rose at all." Martha says, and he turns to look at her with curious eyes.

"From what you've said about her, I can't see her consciously jeopardizing several universes to try and find a backdoor into this one." She explains.

"Did I ever say consciously?" he asks her, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh…" She starts, and then furrows her brow. "Is that even possible though?"

"I don't know really," He says putting his hands in his pockets. "I've never heard of it, but that's good! Day I know everything? Might as well stop. Whoa, spot of déjà vu right there." He says, scratching his head. "Still, I think we should keep our eyes open for any signs of her or anything out of the ordinary."

She nods and he turns to head for her door. Before she realizes she's doing it she reaches for his hand.

"Are you alright?" She asks him.

"'Course! Why wouldn't I be?" he says too cheerfully.

"Because even with nine hundred years of experience, you're still a terrible liar." She croaks, letting the tiredness wash over her.

Sighing, he sits down beside her on the bed, his hands positioned on either side of him. He's staring at the floor and it's moments like this she forgets he's an alien.

"I've fought onslaughts of Cybermen, regenerated twice in less then two years, been almost destroyed by Daleks more times than I can count, caused death, life and revolution in more then a thousand different galaxies, and committed genocide against my own race." He breathes out slowly.

"But the one thing, the one thing I can't seem to get over, is a shop girl I picked up from London a little more then three years ago."

She puts her hand on his shoulder in a sign of support. "Give it time, I'm sure when you're ready it'll happen. After all, you still have trouble accepting some of the other things."

"Will I?" he says, looking over his shoulder at her, "because in a lot of ways, I have gotten over the rest. It happened, I've grieved, time goes marching on, every man for himself and anything else you may want to add to that. But with Rose," he says, turning his head back to the floor again, "With her, I don't know. I don't know if I'll ever get over it because maybe I don't want to." He finishes sitting shoulder to shoulder with her.

"What really gets me, is in every situation I'm in, I always end up in control, I always know what the score is, the outcome of the game." He confesses.

"The closet control freak," she offers, lying back.

"I'm completely baffled. Usually this stage only last hours, a few days at most." He says by lying beside her.

"I don't get it, what bothers you more, the fact you can't figure this one out, or the fact that she has figured it out before you?"

He is silent.

"I guess the question remains to be, is she worth all the monsters?"

"Yes," He whispers in a tone she's never heard before. It reminds her of a scared little boy and before she can close her mind off, she has a random amount of sporadic images flood her mind; Rose reaching out as she fades into a white light, another one of her licking her teeth, a wolf licking it's teeth.

She sees men she doesn't know but know are him, and a lonely boy sitting by himself in a dark corner, that is the last image before it all goes. It's not that she's kicked it out or that he's pulled it away from her, it's that she loses it, like grasping for butterflies. The visions usually only last ten to fifteen seconds and she's so used to blocking it she's surprised that she actually can still see the them. He never throws his thoughts out there for everyone to hear and she realizes he probably wouldn't tell her as much as he does if she didn't have the ability to find out other ways. This used to hurt her, until she realized that this was how he operated. After all, she really couldn't complain, when he found her she was a mess, trying to shut out the voices by any means necessary. He taught her how to do it without hurting anyone or herself. She will never be able to repay him for that.

"You're scared," She breathes, because it doesn't take a psychic to read it on his face. It's etched into every feature, resides within every tense muscle throughout his body.

He doesn't answer and maybe it's just as well. Instead, he lays his head on her chest and she wraps her fingers into his soft hair. She notes he must have had a shower before coming to see her. He is afraid, but of what she's not to sure. Maybe it's that his Rose has changed, maybe he's worried that he's changed. Maybe he's scared that she is, just that powerful to reach across several universes in her sleep. Perhaps it's that she may be in trouble.

She doesn't know, but then again, what she doesn't know could fill an ocean. What she doesn't know is that he's afraid of it all.

There is, one thing she does know however, and that is she knows she is afraid as well.

Afraid, her days as his companion are coming to an end.

* * *

For Rose Tyler, there were indeed 321 million universes (give or take a few), in which she existed. For the Doctor, the number was so large it wasn't pronounceable in many tongues. So, when Rose spent 6 months as a patient of the Torchwood Institute instead of an employee, she was working hard with little time for anything else. Time needed him back, the Wolf hungered for her mate, and Rose simply missed him with all of her heart. All three loved him unconditionally, so all three aspects of being worked together towards one purpose.

To get him back.

After all, 7.3 is the key.

That was the easy part to figure out. Time knew everything about herself, so she just freely gave that knowledge to Rose and the Wolf. It was the last problem that all three were struggling with; they had to find the means to the end. The wolf helped there by doing the only thing she knew how to do other then feed.

She hunted.

It just so happened that Wayne Ross of Alpha Delta Seven had over 600 million universes accumulated in his long life, and had once heard of Gallifrey in passing in a little café outside of Alta Delpha Three. It was in one of his universes that Rose found Gallifrey.

It was there she sent her call.

* * *

_He is standing at the bathroom sink, just out of the shower, shaving in front of the mirror when a blonde head appears from nowhere behind his left shoulder. He smiles slightly making eye contact with the still sleepy head peeking at him. She has a mischievous glint in her eye, or maybe it's just the lighting and how it hits the reflective surface. _

"Good morning, sweetheart." He says, running the blade under the water flowing from the tap.

"Good mornin'." She mumbles into the flesh of his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt, which she is wearing, scraping his back as she presses herself against him. She rests her hands just about the top of his towel, her fingers lingering there as he looks up and gives her a mischievous grin then continues with his task.

"I never knew you shaved." She creaks out, her voice still not warmed up yet.

"Mmm… More in this regeneration then the others."

"Why didn't ya wake me?" she asks him, her voice slightly hurt and high-pitched.

"You can't be serious, me… wake you?" he says focusing on the last strip of shaving cream left to shave.

It's then she makes her move, she swiftly opens her impish mouth resting against his shoulder and bites down hard, her sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. It's enough to cause the tiniest of nick's. While he's in shock, she rips the towel from his body giggling while running off, just a blur of his shirt, her knickers and blonde hair.

"Rose!" He cries out in frustration and before he can pop his head round the corner of the door, she's laughing manically from somewhere down the hall.

When he wakes up, he realizes he's fallen asleep beside Martha and gently lifts himself from her bed. It's when he feels a slight bruise on his left shoulder, that he smiles gently making his way to the control room.


	7. Chapter Six

She sits in her office with Pete as they share lunch and go over personal work. It's the office that used to be his, and it feels weird to be on the other side of the desk and have him sitting there, eating his chips, just like she used too. It's suppose to be a lunch date, a lunch date that gets them both away from their work and talking more about their personal life, but neither is willing to give up their drive. Pete's busy enough as it is, being the President, but Rose has enough on her plate trying to replace him as director. Still, neither are willing to cancel, and so they sit there, eating, talking, working. In some ways, she's closer to her father now than she ever was with her mother. At least now she knows where this side of her came from.

"Did you ever get questioned when you were Director?" she casually asks him, hoping for some reassurance.

"All the time, and usually by you…" he says pointedly looking up at her and smiling slyly. She returns the smile and they both put their heads back down.

"It's not always going to be easy Rose, some are going to call you names, make you question yourself, even compare you to people like Hitler, Stalin…"

"Bush…"

"Who?" he asks.

"No one, someone from…" but she doesn't want to say back home. This is her home now. "It's nothing…"

"My point is…You can't let it get to you… even if you end up being wrong, you have to do what you think is right, because if you try to please everyone else… well you'll end up killin' us all."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence dad." She says, rolling her eyes and going back to the papers.

"I wouldn't have said it if I thought you were like that, I'm proud you've got a good head on your shoulders, I'm proud you took over the job. I'm proud that you went back to school, then on to university, I'm proud…"

"I take it you're trying to tell me something… Something that you feel… towards me…" She says looking up at the sky with a pondering look and her index finger on her chin.

"Alright I get the point, the heart-to-heart has reached it's quota."

"Mmm… Thanks for the kind thoughts, dad, at least you have something nice to say." She says, though she mumbles the last few words to herself.

"Give your mother time Rose. You may have a Doctorate, be the Director of a highly elite secret government agency, and have a few 'I saved the world' medals under your belt, but you'll never get anywhere with her until you're last name is no longer Tyler."

"Well, at least I made maintenance happy, they didn't have to change the sign on the door an ev'rything."

Both laugh and fall into silence once more.

"Speaking of your mother, she and I want you to come over for dinner on Sunday," he says, popping a chip into his mouth and wincing at its soggy taste. Rose watches as he forces the thing down his throat and truthfully, is grateful that she decided against them today.

"Can't," she says, looking away, "I have plans."

"Oh, Mickey and Jake will be there too, didn't they tell you?" Pete says, not looking up from the papers in front of him.

"My plans are not with Mickey or Jake, as a matter of fact." Rose tells him, cautiously looking at him from above the paper in front of her, careful not to make eye-contact.

"Seriously?" he asks her astonished, finally looking up from his documents.

"Yes," she responds, not letting his gaze draw her away from the work in front of her.

"Do you want me to tell Jackie?"

Rose thinks about the conversation he'll have with her mother, and how he'll be reamed out for not sucking every last piece of information out of her. She looks up at his surprised face and smiles at him. He smiles back.

"No, that's okay, I'll tell her." She says, and looks back down at her papers.

"Rose?" and there's feeling in his voice, he has something he wants to say to her and she can hear it linger there.

"Yeah?" she asks, looking up.

Their eyes lock and he gets nervous and frowns at her, shaking himself out of it, and looking down at his papers.

"Nothin'." He says, clearing his throat, and they continue as though the conversation never took place.

Rose's plans are not really as charming as Pete may have thought. Instead, she is having dinner with a man, a man who knows a thing or two about alternate dimensions and traveling through them.

Just like this universe never had a Rose, it never had a Doctor. That much she was sure of, having access to all those files in Torchwood may have helped too.

However, just like Rose, both had been deposited here on this rock, without a way out. 

* * *

They are walking together down a narrow street, one that has been turned into a market place, looking for trinkets and doodads when she asks him.

"Have you noticed lately things have been going relatively well as of late?"

"I thought it was because I was becoming more perspicuous." He says, his red Chucks kicking up the dusty road, anhd she finally puts her finger on what the place reminds her of. She feels like she's stumbled upon pictures of 19th century, early 20th century earth.

"Big words," she tells him, watching women in various clothing walk by. The fashions here resemble something from the 1930's and the only reason she knows that is because she loves Doris Day and all old fashion movies.

"More easy to understand, clear and decisive!" he tells her, squinting at her through the haze of the sun and the dust.

She laughs at him and shakes her head, "No, that's not quite what I was looking for."

"More precarious?" he offers.

"Now you're just using random big words, thinking I won't know what you're talking about. You can't think you're perspicuous than think you're precarious. They are two opposite things."

"I'm just keeping you on your toes Martha, you are a medical student and everyone knows the first rule of being a Doctor is sounding more sophisticated than everyone else." He tells her and she just shakes her head at him.

"This is a fun game! Let's keep going! Is it because of my tendency to be quixotic? Perspicacious, which is different from perspicuous all together!"

She's stopped paying attention now, because she can feel a strong sense of sadness here. People look like they are ill and tired, and she rarely sees a smile on anyone's face except for the rich who walk down the street in fashionable clothing.

"… less intrusive?" he asks.

"Perhaps," she answers, watching as a woman who is cloaked in a long black cloak and a little mask walks past her. Martha is sure she knows her eyes from somewhere, but she ends up shaking it off as just her psychic energy reaching out and touching people.

"By the by," she asks, after a comfortable amount of silence, "Do you have any clue where we are?"

"I can't believe… are you? No trust… you really are asking…"

"So, no then?" she says rhetorically.

"I think it's more a question as in when we are, because I don't remember ANY of this." He tells her honestly, as they stop and he looks back where they have walked to where they are going. He pulls his specs out of his long brown trench pocket and notices they're covered in thick brown grime. Sighing he pulls his red tie out and debates wiping them off, before he shakes his head and places the glasses back in his pocket and his tie back in his suit.

"At least with my brown suit you rarely noticed how dirty it gets." He mumbles grumpily before starting to walk again down the street.

"Remember as in, you have been here before?" she asks him, catching up and putting her arm through his because the wind is definitely starting to pick up and she can barely see through the clouds of grime.

"I don't know." He replies as they turn the corner of the street.

"You are SO helpful today." She tells him, frustrated.

But he's not listening anymore, she pulls away to stare into his face, and she sees it is tight and drawn. He is angry at what he sees, so she glances in the direction he is looking it in hopes of seeing what is upsetting him so.

"What is wrong?" she finally asks, noting all he's looking at is a dead-end alleyway.

"What do you see?" he asks her through a clenched jaw.

She squints hard against the dust, and tries harder. There are two garbage bins to the left hand side, and steps that lead to a door about a story up on the right hand side. The wall that causes it to be a dead end is a large wooden fence that fences off a large (most likely) building of flats. She can see the sun setting behind the building, and a cat sitting on the top of the wooden fence.

"Nothing, I see an empty alley." She tells him defeated.

"Precisely," he says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his billowing coat.

"Martha, things are no longer going relatively well."

* * *

They sit there, waiting for their food and it's extremely difficult for her not to stare. He looks like neither of them. No haunted eyes (though they are still that beautiful blue she remembers) or daft ears, no stylish hair and a mole between his shoulder blades, at least that she knows of. Both leather and brown trench had been replaced by a green smoking jacket.

"Thank you for meeting me here, I know it was quite a trip for you." Rose says, and nods to the waiter who brings her a Tom Collins. He is the one who is staring now and she realizes as she takes the first sip she has forgotten what it feels like to be under his watchful gaze.

"I couldn't resist. A companion from a different alternate universe trapped here as well? Not only did you know things that would definitely lure me here, your working for Torchwood sealed the proverbial deal."

"You know of Torchwood?" Rose says surprised. Sure, she knew it would eventually come up talking to him, but she had thought that her identity had been more secretive than that. After all, he did come all the way from San Francisco; she didn't realize that he had access to that knowledge.

"Miss Tyler,"

"Doctor…" she interjects.

"Yes?"

"No, it's Doctor Tyler."

"Rose… my TARDIS may be out of commission, but I still keep up with alien gossip. I have a few friends back in America who were relocated and given new identities by your NIFAL program." He explains to her, sipping water from his glass placed in front of him.

"How much do you know about Torchwood?" She says lifting a brow seriously at him. She trusts him, but she keeps reminding herself this isn't the man she once knew and that things could go wrong at any time.

"I know you are Torchwood."

"Enough then," She says, clearing her throat and sipping her drink once again. They sit there in silence and she's rather comfortable being in the presence of this well-known stranger. It doesn't matter if he's a previous regeneration or a latter one (not that she has the courage to ask), it only takes a few minutes to get back into the habit of him.

"So if you're still the know-it-all I remember, do you know why I asked you here?" She asks him as the food arrives in front of them. She picks up her utensils and begins to cut her steak into smaller pieces. There is silence in response to her question and she slowly smiles. At least he isn't as rude in this life.

"The reason why I asked you here, is my Doctor didn't tell me a lot about the Time War, when it happened, what had really happened, what Gallifrey was like, what makes up your genetics."

"So you what you are trying to tell me, is that you are looking for an education on Time Lords," he states, somewhat cautiously and she can tell he doesn't like the idea too much. She isn't sure; she doesn't know what he's gone through, what he's willing to give up.

"I want you as an ally. I want to, need to understand. I watched too many people think they knew better than 'im and it always resulted in death. He may have been an arrogant bastard but he always knew what he was doin' in the end. My job at Torchwood is to make sure the Earth is prepared for anything or everything when it comes to aliens. If he… you… can't deal with every threat that comes our way then I wan' to be prepared for that. I've seen Cybermen, Sycorax, Gelth, Reapers… I've been invited to have a cuppa with the Emperor Dalek. I figure, if I have to live on this bloody planet, I may as well do the best I can protectin' it." She finishes, sipping her Tom Collins nervously, it's been awhile since she felt the need to explain herself to anyone.

"Then, I shall help you," he tells her, resting his hand on top of hers that is lying on the table. She stares at the union, and she bathes in the warmth of it. It's comforting and if she closes her eyes, she's sure she'd be able to forget and pretend he was hers. She sighs.

"My wife, however, will not approve," he tells her, to which her head shoots up. 

* * *

Two hours later she is sitting at the bar in a smoky lounge waiting for him while he's gone off to find out who impounded the TARDIS for illegal parking (though she's sure he's just misplaced it and is making a big scene). Boredly, she drums her fingers against the bar when the bartender comes by to see what she'd like to drink. Martha asks for anything that won't get her drunk (learning from her mistake once by asking for no alcohol), and the bartender nods. She swivels on her chair so she is facing the stage, occupied by a small piano which is being played. The pianist finishes his song and the audience claps.

"Here you are miss," the bartender says, placing a glass full of bluish goop in front of her, nodding in thanks, she slowly takes a sip to find it rather sugary and chalk tasting. Repulsed, she puts the drink down and tries not to make a face.

She sees the pianist take a drag of a cigarette which is being held by an ashtray on the top of the piano before he says; "Now we have a real treat for you tonight, a real treat… Coming out of retirement, and for one night only…"

"That's what she always says…" a random customer calls out. Some people laugh, some don't, the pianist chuckles slightly, and Martha can tell that some of these people are real regulars.

"For one night only, for now, the loveliest flower that ever existed… Earth and England's pride and joy, Rose…"

And like that, there she was, and Martha doesn't know whether to be annoyed or intrigued. She comes out, dressed in a red silk floor length dress that seems almost timeless itself and red elbow length gloves. The piano starts softly and she is framed in a halo of golden light, her dress clinging to her curves. Slowly she lifts her gloved hand to push a brunette strand of hair behind her ear, her hair barely touching her shoulders. She never introduces the song, but dives right into the words, painting a picture for Martha to see.

_If you be my star  
I'll be your sky  
you can hide underneath me and come out at night  
when I turn jet black and you show off your light  
I live to let you shine  
I live to let you shine_

but you can skyrocket away from me  
and never come back if you find another galaxy  
far from here with more room to fly  
just leave me your stardust to remember you by

She takes a sip again of her bluish chalk drink, shaking slightly as she does so. So somehow they found Rose again. What she really wants to know is, where this leaves all of them. It's obvious to her that this Rose knows the Doctor, it's apparent from the words in her song.

_if you be my boat  
I'll be your sea  
a depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity  
ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze  
I live to make you free  
I live to make you free_

Martha takes this opportunity to really watch her for the first time. She's only seen Rose in few pictures and the one time on Barcelona, and even then it was for a very brief period of time. She bites her lip at how she reacted to Rose's comments.

She thinks of how she would feel if she came back to him and someone she didn't know was all over him. She didn't own him, he owned himself, but there was something about the Doctor that made you feel that you shared a special joke that raged against the rest of the universe, a special joke that you never really wanted to share with anyone else, and if you did, either he got distant or you found yourself doing the same. He once told her that Rose had said it was a better life with two, and it always is. But she can't imagine it being better with more than that, she can't imagine anyone being willing to share.

_but you can set sail to the west if you want to  
and past the horizon till I can't even see you  
far from here where the beaches are wide  
just leave me your wake to remember you by_

Martha feels the tears spring to her eyes at the emotion conveyed in the song, how Rose sounds at complete loss within the words. She realizes how she'd feel without him as well. She may not be in love with him, but she knows that without him her life could have ended up very different. Would it have been worse? She's not sure, but she does know that she doesn't know how she'd go back to it now. She's not ready to go, not ready to let go.

_if you be my star  
I'll be your sky  
you can hide underneath me and come out at night  
when I turn jet black and you show off your light  
I live to let you shine  
I live to let you shine_

but you can skyrocket away from me  
and never come back if you find another galaxy  
far from here with more room to fly  
just leave me your stardust to remember you by  
stardust to remember you by…

She is finished and Martha feels a tear trickle down her cheek.

"Isn't she something?" The bartender says.

"Yes, she is extremely talented. I had no idea." Martha murmurs as she watches Rose slightly tilt her head in a bow to the clapping in the audience.

"Well, part of it is talent, part of it is the raw emotion, it's hard to find singers these days with such an emotional investment in their words or their craft. She always says it's her last show, and she always comes back. Starvin' will do that to you."

Martha nods slowly and watches as Rose descends from the stage via the stairs and, it's when Rose begins to walk right towards her that she freezes up.

"Can I have some water Frank?" Rose asks, her gloved arms resting on the bar. Martha stares as best she can out of the corner of her eye. She so badly wants to turn and strike up a conversation but she is worried that she is only going to make things worse. It is then that fate steps in, in the form of a customer and bumps into Rose while she is talking a sip of her water, causing her to spill it everywhere.

"Bloody hell," she says, dripping in water. Martha instinctively picks up a napkin and begins to pat Rose down before she freezes, realizing what she is doing.

"Thanks, though now I'm going to look as though I've wet myself." Rose lightly chuckles peeling the soaked gloves off her arms.

"Aw, well, it could be worse, you're lucky water doesn't stain." Martha tells her, then frowns and adds "although, this is silk… so you never know, does silk stain with water?"

Rose shrugs, "I dunno, I don't doubt it."

"Does the toilet have one of those hand drying thingy's?" Martha asks her.

"Naw, this is a colonizing planet, just dust and booze here." Rose responds, tucking a lock back behind her head once more. Both woman smile at each other nervously, for completely separate reasons.

"Thank you," Rose says to her, even her speaking voice melancholy and sad.

"You must miss him so much."

Rose's eyes widen and she is obviously surprised by Martha's slip up.

"Pardon me?" she asks.

Martha tries to backtrack by starting "I'm sorry, I just… you look like you miss someone… your singing… I figured you… love him very much."

To which, Rose continues to look at her suspiciously.

"I didn't mean to intrude, I just know what it's like, to miss someone. I do apologize." Martha offers once last time.

Rose's narrowed eyes soften and she searches Martha eyes before finally accepting this excuse. Martha sighs and takes a large sip of her syrup-like concoction.

"He's away, but he promised he'd come back for me."

"Aren't you in for a surprise," Martha murmurs.

"Pardon?" Rose asks.

"I said, that would be a romantic surprise." Martha says, turning back to the confused Rose and lifting her drink to toast Rose. Rose once again eyes her suspiciously as she clinks her water to Martha's drink and then takes a sip. Once Rose is finished she tells Martha she has another song to perform and goes back towards the stage. Again, the song is not introduced, but Rose begins her song with painful emotion.

_Time here,  
All but means nothing,  
Just shadows that move across the wall,  
They keep me company,  
But they don't ask of me,  
They don't say nothing at all…_

And I need just a little more silence  
And I need just a little more time

Martha listens to how every note drips with emotion. She can hear her pain and honor, her pride and desperation. Her love and loss, over and over again, it's like Rose is the sea and her emotions come crashing wave after wave, hitting her psyche with barrage after barrage of muddled feelings.

_You send your thieves to me  
Silently stalking me  
Dragging me into your war  
Would you give me no choice in this?  
I know you can't resist  
Trying to reopen a sore_

But leave me be  
I don't want to argue  
I just get confused  
And I come all undone  
And if I agree  
Well it's just to appease you  
Cause I don't remember  
What we're fighting for

It takes everything in her power to shut the door to her mind, and force Rose out, and once she has she feels empty, numb even. Shaking her head, she knows what she has to do, the same thing she knows Rose would in her situation. She has to find a way to fix this, find a way to make the pain cease to be, to ease it for both parties. She holds no resentment anymore, no dislike or worry, all she knows is that she is apart of something special, and that she needs to make it work.

_You see love  
The tight, thorny thread  
That's just spin in a circle of gold  
To have me, to hold me  
A token for all to see  
Captured to be yours alone_

It's then that Martha can feel his presence. He always does that to her, it's like just a little extra weight on her mind. When he's around, she never really notices it, it's only when they've been apart for awhile and he returns that she can feel its pressure. She turns to look at him, and he is staring at the stage. She can see his carefully guarded pain, and she knows he is hiding behind it.

Slowly she tiptoes towards him, he never turning to look at her and she watches as his jaw clenches underneath his skin. She knows the song is for him, maybe not him in particular, but it's obvious now that this Rose is in love with a Doctor.

_So I need just a little more silence  
And I need just a little more time_

Courage to pull away  
There will be hell to pay  
The deeper you cut to the bone…

But leave me be  
I don't want to argue  
I just get confused  
And I come all undone  
And if I agree  
Well it's just to appease you  
Cause I don't remember  
What we're fighting for…

The song is over and Martha clears her throat, just incase he was too enthralled by the song to notice her presence. He doesn't turn to her, which she is sure means that he knew all along that she was right there beside him.

"Why don't you go say hi?" she asks him quietly.

"Because," he says, "That is not my Rose."


	8. Chapter Seven

"How can you be so sure?" He hears her ask him as he watches the brunette bow slightly and smile at the crowd. He locks eyes with Rose's for the briefest of seconds and again she shows no sign of recognition, no surprise or shock at his presence here.

"The smell," he answers, then briefly looks down and smiles slightly at Martha. "She doesn't smell like her."

Martha stares at him and he feels so alien to her under her gaze.

"And, she didn't recognize me," he adds, because he knows she doesn't quite grasp the fact that scent tells a lot about who a person is.

"What did your Rose smell like?" Martha asks him curiously.

"Depended on her mood really, usually like cinnamon and gravy."

"What an odd combination," Martha says, scrunching up her face.

"Yes, well, she was an odd girl," he adds before turning to leave the lounge. He can't stay here, whether she is his or not. Just her face, that sadness in her eyes, is beginning to beckon to him and he's sure if he really wanted to he could forget all about the craziness of this situation and that the only logical explanation being that he has, once again, traveled to an alternate dimension. This Rose does not smell like cinnamon and gravy, but she does smell similar to his Rose, and it tickles his nostrils enough that his eyes water just a touch. Before he gets too far away though, he feels Martha's grip on his arm tighten.

"ROSE!" He hears Martha call behind him only a foot away.

"Let go," he tells her dangerously, looking back at the arm holding him, and she is looking at him like he's such a curious being. Sometimes he thinks he's more human than she is.

It's too late, the damage has been done he realizes, as Rose sees them and begins to walk over to where they are standing.

"My friend and I wanted to tell you how amazing you were." Martha smiles, taking Rose's hands in her own. Rose smiles shyly and pulls her hands out of Martha's to offer one to the Doctor.

"Rose Tyler," she says, her hand hanging there, and he can feel Rose's disappointment over the fact he doesn't take it and instead just stares intensely at her. He can also feel the weight of Martha's gaze at what a git he's being.

She's slimmed out, or was always this slim, but she is certainly dressed more provocatively then he's ever seen her, excluding the time he took her to Cardiff 1869. Even then, she was more covered than now.

"So Rose," he hears Martha say to the left of him. "You were tellin' me earlier this is a colonizing planet. Where are you originally from?"

"Well Earth technically, but it's been so long… I've been all over."

"By yourself?" He hears himself question, breaking his silence.

"No," she answers slightly annoyed and surprised and his bluntness, "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, you know… young woman like yourself, hard to come to a colonizing planet alone." He mutters looking away, kicking himself for acting so oddly.

"Yeah well, some things aren't planned." He hears her mumble.

He can feel how awkward Martha feels and knows she is having trouble blocking the psychic energy of Rose and himself, especially since he's having trouble containing it.

_I can't let him leave her…_ He hears her think and knows he's in for a more torture if he's going to allow this go on any further.

"Come and have a drink with us Rose," she offers.

"Nah, that's okay, thanks anyways, but I should be gettin' home before curfew." He hears the red-clad brunette say.

"Right! Curfew! How could we forget! Well lovely speaking to you Rose, come along Martha," the Doctor says walking away. Martha gives Rose a helpless look and he can hear her say sorry quickly before catching up to him.

"What was that?" she asks him furiously when she makes her way out the door, right on his tail. It's the door to the back alleyway they were staring at earlier, and this is the building with the little deck and stairs leading down into the dead end street. Below, the TARDIS is parked. It's windy again and his long brown trench is flowing with the gusts.

"I'm almost inclined to ask you the same question," He spits out, spinning on his heel to look at her with his deadliest of gazes. "For a medical student Martha, you sure don't make healthy choices."

And with that he is down the steps two at a time towards the TARDIS parked below.

"Oh, threats now, is it? Well I find it rather_ convenient_ that you are so desperate to know what's happening to us, and then all of a sudden you run in the opposite direction when something happens that could be more thoroughly investigated."

"I REFUSE TO 'INVESTIGATE' HER." He bellows, his head bowed towards his ship.

"Why, because you could find out something you're not ready to know? Doctor? Are you even listening to me?" She asks, chasing after him, "_DOCTOR_!"

They are right outside the blue box and he's searching through his keys to find his the right one when a curious and familiar voice cries out.

"Doctor?"

He turns to see a Rose, with a shocked and disbelieving look on her face, at the top of the stairs he has just descended down. She is wearing a black cloak as she smoothly slides down the staircase towards him angrily, causing him to double back against the door of the blue box. She is suddenly right in front of him, her eyes searching his. Finally, he sees the light of something dawning on her.

Before he realizes what's going on, her lips are hungrily set upon his. He can smell desire and anger like a starving animal around them as he stands frozen against her onslaught. Images leak from both of them, flooding his mind with memories or fantasies involving her lips and hands and things better left unsaid. Before he realizes what the consequences are, he's giving in and letting go of the universe around him, hurtling into oblivion and her kiss. His hands are everywhere, though, mostly at the small of her back and in her hair, and he feels the wave of a moan escape her and swallows it into himself. It causes him to hold her just that extra bit closer, cling to her kiss and desire as though it were a tangible buoy in this sea of misery.

But even then, even in that moment a thought or memory begins to stir, knowledge that his brain as tucked away, for how long he doesn't remember, but he knows it's there. He tries to reach for it but the door to its shining light is closed brutally on him, and he finds himself back to falling, falling deeper into the girl in his arms.

The moment doesn't last as she pushes herself away from him, staring into his dazed brown eyes. Searching one more time, she pulls back and slaps him across the face.

Hard.

"You bastard!" she yells, sincere contempt on her face as she storms off towards the opening of the alleyway.

Holding his cheek, he sees Martha for the first time in the last couple of minutes.

Or was it seconds?

He's not too sure.

"How long have you been there?" he asks her drunkenly.

"I never left," amusement touching the edge of her voice before adding, "Hurt?"

"She hits like her mother."

* * *

"You must be Grace," Rose smiles politely as she takes the woman's hand. The Doctor has picked up the smaller woman's bas and is carrying one on each arm, a giddy smile on his face like a child who just got a present for being a good boy. She can feel their love and it irritates her skin like a bad rash.

"And you, Rose," Grace says with equal civility, although Rose is sure the woman hates her already. She searches her eyes, wanting to see if there's any contempt or anger there that justifies her dislike for the female whom she's just met. Unfortunately she doesn't see anything, only making her feel more of a fool.

They are standing by the terminal of the airport, where Rose decided that she would come with him to pick her up, much to her dismay. He had asked, no, pleaded for her to do so, if only to put her best foot forward. Little did he know that she had two left feet.

"_She's going to hate me." Rose tells him as the limo pulls into the parking lot._

"_No she's not; Grace rarely hates anything except for me being called Doctor." He tells her._

"_Well it's your name isn't it?" _

"_Yes, no… well… you see, the thing is, is that when Grace came along with me I always introduced her as a doctor as well, and that annoyed her. When we got stranded on this planet a ten years back, before you were here, we decided we were going to try and live a normal life. That meant I couldn't just be 'Doctor' anymore. It took a long time, but we named me. I even have identification with the name on it, see?" He says, pulling a picture I.D. out of his wallet. "It's me!"_

_She looks at the name, and remembers it from her files, although she never considered using it for him. William Bydysaw._

"_It's Welsh." He tells her, "I just dropped the last D. It means universe! Isn't that cryptic?!"_

"_Indeed." She says, not really amused and more tired then anything. The car pulls up to the front gates and she gets out. _

"_She's going to hate me." Rose tells him once more._

"_Only if you are rude."_

"_She's going to hate me."_

"The Doctor has told me a lot about you," Rose offers and is only slightly surprised to see her grimace at the use of his name. She lets it go; after all she was supposed to know better. If he picks up on this, she can't tell because he's still grinning innocently standing there waiting to be guided like a lost dog through the airport with the two bags.

"I hear you're a doctor too, cardiology." Rose says.

"Yes, she is, she's really quite amazing!" He tells Rose placing an arm around the red-head in front of her and Rose feels young and small under the gaze of the beautiful woman. She notices how happy and content he looks beside her, like an eager puppy happy that whose master has come home. Part of her is disgusted by the display, and the other part yearns for the same part in her Doctor's life, although she is sure that even if he did ever come back, it would never be the same again, and certainly not like that. She finds herself smoothing her pencil skirt and tugging her blazer down so as not to stare at them, before shaking off the feeling.

"Amazing Grace," Rose says, folding her hands for two reasons. One, so she can try to stop fidgeting around her, and two, so she doesn't fold her arms.

Grace shrugs and leans into his embrace, half chuckling as she puts an arm around the Doctor. "You're not the first to come up with that analogy," she says as she looks up into the taller man's eyes.

Rose's heart breaks just a little more, knowing that in some lifetime, he was capable of this kind of love, and before she can register it, a small surge of frustration pulsates through her at the apparent affection.

Turning on her heels she begins to click away in her power suit.

"This way, we should hurry if we want to beat traffic."

* * *

It takes a little psychic paper, and a touch of acting on his part, but Martha and the Doctor are finally let into Rose's building by the manager, and into her apartment with the help of the sonic screwdriver.

"Do you want me to wait outside?" Martha asks cautiously as he points the device at the door and they hear the latch click back, when he turns to look at her with the most hopeless look she's ever seen on his face.

…_Don't leave me, please…_ whispers through her head even with her blocks strongly in place. She nods and pushes the door open in front of him. As she walks in, she sees Rose lying stretched out on a divan a few feet away and to the right. She's staring out a window, away from them, her arms crossed in her lap.

"Rose?" He asks, meekly walking closer.

She doesn't turn to acknowledge their presence, but instead starts speaking. "When he left, he told me it wouldn't be long at all. 'I'll be back before you can say 'Bob's your uncle'"…

"_I always wanted an uncle named Bob." He says, smiling down at her with his charming smile while holding her shoulders._

"_Bob's your uncle," she replies hastily, to which he just smiles and kisses her nose. _

"_Now I have to be gone, for it to work," he tells her as he pulls her closer to him so all she feels is the velvet jacket and his curly hair against her cheek._

"_I'm sure it's nothing, I'm sure it's just another check-up or mundane procedure I have to tend to." He murmurs running his long fingers through her blonde hair._

"_Why can't I come again?" she mumbles into his shoulder._

"_Because darling, Gallifrey is forbidden to humans." He sighs._

"_Will Romana be there?" she asks hesitantly._

"_Most likely, why do you ask?"_

"_I don't like her, she mocks me every time we see each other, and you know me not being there won't stop her from doin' it behind my back."_

_He has nothing to say to this so she just pulls him closer to breathe in his particular scent. _

"_Rose, please relax, I promise everything will be fine. You are my future, alright?" he says pulling her away to look into her lost eyes with his own blue ones. She nods and he pulls her close and kisses her gently, his hands in her hair pushing it back out of her face. She smiles at him as he pulls away from her lips._

"_You need to re-dye your roots," he says noticing it for the first time._

_  
"We'll do it when you get back," she tells him and he smiles._

"_That's my girl," he says kissing her briefly one last time. He begins to walk away from her, the green velvet gusting in the wind. She puts her hands in her pockets so she doesn't reach out for him and calls out when she realizes he isn't going to turn back one last time._

"_Hey," she calls out and he turns to her, "Promise you'll throw a thinly veiled insult at her for me," she says, licking her teeth and smiling._

_He just shakes his head and turns back to his ship while she stands there in the middle of a dusty road, watching him. He doesn't turn back and look behind him that one last time, not because he doesn't care enough to, but because he doesn't want her to see the distress on his face._

_As the TARDIS dematerializes Rose turns around and slowly begins to walk down the street, half expecting it to rematerialize in front of her. Once she reaches the end of the road, she sighs and shakes her head smiling, half knowing all along that he wouldn't be back that fast._

_Still, part of her had believed him._

"It's a good thing he left me with some money or I wouldn't have survived." Rose says, looking him in the eyes, which causes him to look away. He can't look at her while listening to the story she just told him. Obviously he wasn't the only one in all the universes out there that had loved Rose, and he still doesn't know if he did the right thing by always keeping her an arm's length away.

"I know what's going on here," she says finally after staring at him for some time.

"You do?" he asks her surprised.

"I do, Romana explained it to me. You're him, he's you. You regenerated. It's alright, at first I was mad you never told me yourself, but then again, you had no idea you were going to war. Neither of us did…" she tells him somewhat happily.

"No Rose, I'm not him…" he tells her, and Martha can see the pain cut deeper into him having to refuse her this. It happens again, the wisp of an idea or thought that he knows he should know but finds just without his reach.

"I know! And that's okay, you're still him in some ways, but now you're you, you may not feel as strongly as the last Doctor did, but you obviously cared enough to come back, right?" she says, standing to hug him, "and finally, you've come back to take me with you."

* * *

"Rose?" She hears her name called out and she wants to answer but she's too lost to call out. Everything is a haze around her, her heart is in her throat, her eyes are burning at the sight, the smell of burnt rubber and what she knows to be flesh. She secretly wishes that she could not identify the second scent.

"Shit, Rose honey…" Grace says, and she can feel Grace's arm wrap around her but not what she finishes saying. They are standing close to the scene where the dirigible had crashed, and there are bits and pieces of it laying everywhere. She can't remember how they made it here, or what her and Grace had been talking about when Jenna, her personal assistant, told her they needed her down on James Street. She doesn't know why this had to happen, but she does know that she has to swallow back the taste at the back of her throat, and see the damage closer. The policemen and soldiers are trying to push them back when she feels herself lift the wallet slowly, flashing her government badge. They back off and lift the yellow tape and she's floating on a cloud towards more Policemen.

"Oi! Get this woman behind the tape!" she hears an officer call out and grab her by the arm.

"I'm Agent Rose Tyler of the Torchwood Institute," She hears herself say.

"That's nice Agent Tyler, but this is completely out of your jurisdiction." The man says still grasping her arm tightly and trying to pull her towards the tape.

She begins to feel grounded and she pulls her arm away from him. "Look again," she tells him coldly and he humors her by looking at her badge one more time. Finally it dawns on him and he pales and nods his head in understanding.

"I'm sorry Agent Tyler, but you really shouldn't be here, we haven't found all the pieces yet."

She's sure he means pieces of the dirigible but she imagines the bodies torn apart laying everywhere and she feels the bile rise up in her throat. Against her will, she finds herself throwing up right there on the side of the street.

"Bollocks," the officer says, rubbing her back in a soothing motion.

"I'm sorry," she says between lurches. Finally, when there is nothing left in her, she stands and the man offers her a Kleenex.

"Black box?" she asks.

"Not yet," he replies.

"Speculation of cause?"

"Terrorist attack."

She looks around at the rubble lying around them, trying desperately not to think as she assesses the situation.

"Body count?"

He sighs and scratches his head, "President Tyler, First Lady Jacqueline Tyler, the pilot, a few bodyguards."

"Mickey and Jake."

"There were no survivors Agent Tyler, we don't even know who else was on the vehicle at the time." He finishes.

She shakes her head a single tear running down her cheek, but she's too numb to feel it. "And Elle Tyler, wha' about her?"

"Negative, she was traveling with her nanny by car. We stopped them outside of Blackpool and informed them." Rose nods and one last time looks around at the scene, when it hits her. At first, she doesn't quite grasp what it is, she sees the picture clearly but it's like her brain and her eyes aren't connected. A tingling sensation washes over her and her neck feels all prickly and cold when she blinks and finally makes the connection.

It's a yellow heel.

The same yellow heel she helped her mother pick out three days ago on Bond Street.

Rose feels herself falling to the ground as everything around her goes black. Before she can hit though, strong arms wrap around her and support her weight.

"It's alright… she just needs room to breathe," She hears a familiar voice echo around her.

"She shouldn't be here, someone needs to take her home," she hears the policeman say, and her vision slowly starts to return to her, black and white spots linger, but her hearing is starting to fade.

"Certainly sir, we will," she hears in the distance, and before she realizes he's picked her up in his arms. Curls brush against her eyes, and her cheek can feel the soft brush of velvet.

"No, I can walk, put me down." She weakly tells him, her body still feeling like jelly but she's coherent enough to be embarrassed by the scene.

"Rose, please, let me help you," he whispers because her ear is so close to his face. The spots refuse to go away and only increase, and with her ears ringing, she rests her head on his shoulder and wraps her arms around his neck.

It's the last thing she can do before she welcomes the blackness that could swallow her whole.

* * *

"So, what you're sayin' is you are a Doctor, and there IS a thing called regeneration, but you are NOT my Doctor, cuz you're from a different universe, however, the reason you knew me is because you had a Rose as well but you lost her to _another_ dimension, and the reason you can't get her back is because you can't create an opening between the two universes anymore or it would collapse. But you have no idea how you're getting through to _other_ universes, and you think it might be your Rose who is causin' it." Rose finishes.

"Um… yes, that's pretty much the story in a nutshell." He tells her, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He's spent the last hour explaining it to her, and he's sure he would have had more fun getting his teeth drilled.

"Oh," Rose says dejectedly. She stands from the divan and walks to the window she had been looking out of when they walked in, "and, I suppose if I hadn't interrupted your argument, you would have left by now."

He looks to Martha for help, knowing no matter what he says that it will sound insincere. Besides, Martha owes him this. None of this would have happened if she hadn't forced him to speak with Rose.

Martha clears her throat before saying, "Only to avoid complication. We never wanted for this kind of mix-up to happen."

"Really?" Rose asks angrily, turning with her arms crossed to look Martha in the eye. "Because from what I remember you were just dyin' for us to talk. 'Rose! My friend and I just loved your performance,' 'Rose, have a drink with us.' You seemed really concerned about my feelings."

Martha opens her mouth to object then closes it. She looks to the Doctor and he looks away. He had wanted to go right away, to avoid her all together. She had thought it was because he wanted to hide from the issues, not because of this predicament. She knows now she's made a terrible mistake and it seems at the moment that neither he nor the Alternate Rose are prepared to forgive her. Sighing, she doesn't know what to do, but she feels it might be appropriate if she leaves them alone for a little while. Slowly, she gets up, making eye contact with the man sitting across from her. She nods her head slightly towards the door and his eyes light up a touch and he nods a curtly in understanding before getting up and following her out.

"I'm going to go. I just wanted to tell you so you don't worry or nothin'."

He nods.

"Yeah, maybe we should."

"Didn't you hear me?" she asks him incredulously, "I said _I_ should leave, you stay here. Look, I know I screwed up. But my point still stands: you needed to know for sure that was her or not. And even still, I still think you need to talk to her. Even if it doesn't give you any new information to help us out about what's going on, it might help… in other ways." She is unable to look in him the eye.

"Are you sure?" he asks her, and she knows he's asking more in the question then he cares to admit.

"Yes," she says smiling. She needs him to know that she understands, and that she doesn't feel an inkling of jealousy, so she sends him good energy in hopes he's open to it. His serious face lights up brilliantly and he pulls her into a hug. She feels his forgiveness in her mind, wrapping around her guilt and healing it.

She squeezes her friend tighter before letting go.

After all, practice makes perfect.

"On this sad day we ask: 'Why could the Tylers not remain with their family, with their daughter Elle and niece Rose?' It is a question we cannot answer, but we do what we can to offer our sympathy, prayers, and support at this time, I would also like to assure you that the Tylers' death is not Jesus' fault, and that God is not to blame for it. But saying that does not mean that we cannot question the Lord. Indeed, we can tell the Lord that we have doubts about His goodness, that we wonder does He really care at all about us, that we feel so let down by Him…"

Elle is sitting in her lap, still at that perfect age, where her feet dangled over her knees and her head fit perfectly between her shoulder and her face. As the priest continues on about the mercy of God and the evils of terrorists, she finds herself wishing she could trade positions and curl up in someone else's lap. Just as she thinks it, Grace squeezes her hand, and she looks over at her friend beside her. Tears fall freely down her face, her red hair pulled back elegantly. Rose finds irony in the fact that Grace can cry and she hasn't a tear left to spare her mother, father, and best friends. She pulls Elle's body closer, feeling cold, but even the crying girl in her lap can't warm her.

"_Where will I go Rose?" _

"_You'll come and live with me."_

She smiles at Grace reassuringly and lets go of her friend's hand so she can wrap it in her sisters hair. She hushes the crying child and rocks her back and forth, wiping the tears that fall down her chubby cheeks.

"And when Jesus saw Lazarus' tomb how did he react? "He wept." When we are in pain, is there a sense in which we can say that God is also in pain? Our tears are God's tears also. God does not abandon us in our time of suffering. God suffers with us. So it is good to turn to the Lord as Martha and Mary did and say, "Lord, you have let us down." Then the Lord cries with us. It gives us strength to know that Lord cries with us, that he shares our pain."

Rose refrains from rolling her eyes, but she doesn't refrain from sneaking a peek at who has attended the service. Some of the most powerful politicians from around the world are in attendance, all to show their sympathies. Instead of inspiring her, it brought out the cynicism in Rose. She found their condolences heavy-handed and insincere. Maybe it was because no condolence would ever bring back Mickey, or her mum, or her new found father.

"For the sake of all these who stand round me, so that they may believe that it was you who sent me."

She can't help but think of the Doctor when people talk of God in front of her. Not Grace's husband, William Bydysaw, but _her _Doctor. The one who would have held her hand right now, the one who would have let her cry, no matter how strong she pretended she was. It was just one less thing in her life these days, the ability to be weak, and now, with Elle to look after, it too was a casualty in a long list of losses.

"So we could say it was for our sake, for your sake, that Jesus raised Lazarus so that in our times of trouble and grief we will not lose faith in Jesus. Jesus has not abandoned you in your time of grief. He is here and cries with you. Turn to Him and ask His help. Ask Him to heal you of the great hurt you have suffered."

She just wishes that he'll recognize her when he sees her next.

He looks across the room and she stands there in silk, long and flowing, her hair barely touching her back, turned away from him, and he longs to reach out and touch the woman he knows does not belong to him. Somewhere along the way, part of him forgot to care, and yet he still can't shake that feeling that this is wrong, and he is the bringer of right, and therefore cannot afford to make this allowance. So, he approaches her with a caution that would please even Rassilion himself.

"Rose," he says, his dulcet tones echoing in the all too quiet room, and all he can hear above his double heart beat is the sniffling of the broken girl in front of him. He can smell her faint perfume and the agony hanging above her head like the eye of the storm. And still, he dare not disturb the emotion hanging around her.

"I never… he… I'm sure, he'll be back." He finally finishes, and he wonders what he's still doing there, what he's supposed to say next, and how this conversation will end. He curses himself that he doesn't know, or that he can't allow himself, because he doesn't see how this path will lead him, he's too close to the carnage, too deep into it, to step away. Carefully he puts a hand on her shoulder and she is cold under his touch, something he's not used too. He's always colder, it's just how it works.

They stand there in silence, which he thinks is probably a good thing, because if she asks anything of him, he may just give her the stars, and it occurs to him that if he is willing to give a Rose that is not even his the stars, he's scared of what he'd give to the Rose that is.

A star to say goodbye? Yes.

But not two universes, maybe one, but two he couldn't live with, if he was unlucky enough to survive.

"He kissed me goodbye." Rose whispers. "But he never had the decency to say it, and although I know it in every fiber of my being, so much that my bones ache with the knowledge of it, he never once said 'I love you.'"

His hand turns to ice over her, and he feels his legs lock to where he's standing. He so desperately wants to run away from this conversation and somehow his body and brain are not willing to meet up and make an escape plan. So, he just stands there as she turns under his hand and looks up at him with moist eyes, dark and full of emotion, he feels his mouth tingle and his throat go sore from swallowing too hard.

He tries to think of something witty, like 'what is with you girls and those three words.' He tries to think of something meaningful like 'The words mean nothing, it's only action that counts.' But he can't. He doesn't have the courage to speak; he doesn't have the courage to lie to her, because at one time, he believed so strongly in that philosophy. But ever since he saw a girl's face, so devastated on a beach years away from now, and yet only moments ago, a girl's face that is an exact replica to this girl's, except this time he can touch her, can whisper those sweet nothings in her ear, he can tell her everything is alright. Since then, he has been dying to let those words spill into the air. And still, it would mean nothing to either of them. She doesn't love him, and he doesn't love her. They love the idea of each other, a memory they both carry deep within them that maybe one day, will be a reality.

Slowly, she leans towards him, standing on her tip toes, her lips hovering above his. Still frozen, he cannot find the will to move, as she seals her mouth to his, a desperate attempt to acknowledge something within herself. He lets her rest against him, her lips against his, so gentle, before she pulls away and puts her head on his shoulder. Sighing, he wraps his arms around her and rocks her back and forth, staring off into the distance as she weeps against him. He wishes the pressure of her body against his could have been his undoing, but it was not. She may look like Rose, smell somewhat like her, smile and sing, and cry just like his, but the fundamental truth was that she was not. This was somebody else's flower to pick, and he wasn't going to deny them what he already lost.

He soothes her with a different kind of sweet nothing, things like "he will be back, that I promise you," and "Things will be alright." But he still can't say those three little words that would mean so much to her, and not because he can't get them out.

He doesn't say them, because they are not his to say.

* * *

Martha is sitting in the control room when he returns without Rose. She wants to ask what happened, and where Rose is, but thinks better of it when he goes on his merry way, dialing co-ordinates and pulling levers.

"In a hurry are we?" she says, scratching her elbow, and he looks at her seriously from over his specs. She worries he is mad at her, when suddenly his face splits open in a lopsided, goofy grin calming her nerves. It doesn't last though, as she is thrown to the floor by what she can only describe as a shock wave.

The TARDIS jerks and groans as it shudders and flickers on and off, then on again.

"You alright?" he asks her, concern dripping from every word, as he crawls over to where she fell.

"Yeah, little sore around the edges. What was that?" she asks, rubbing the back of her head, which had been smashed against the floor when she fell.

"I'm not quite sure, but it felt like a power surge, a very STRONG power surge. That or, well… I don't want to think about the other option because the only time the TARDIS has ever jerked and shuddered like that, is when we were pulled through into an alternate universe." He tells her, getting up and holding out his hand to her. She accepts it and both are on their feet in no time, trying to regain their balance. This is a bad sign and Martha knows it—it means that the TARDIS is moving at top speed.

"What does it say?" she asks him eagerly as he reads a data screen.

"We are in a universe that's for sure, just can't tell which one. Still, says here we are heading for Earth, year 2020." He says, with a very serious look on his face. He looks at her with that pout and the green glow of the consol makes him look more alien now then she's ever really realized. She feels herself stabilize signaling that they've landed. She wonders why they are in 2020. With the look the Doctor has on, she's guessing it's not because of any planning on his part.

Slowly, she watches as he moves to the door, opens it cautiously and steps out into a bright room. When she doesn't hear anything, she runs to the door to see if he's okay.

He's standing there, those expressive eyes bulging out of his head, staring at a man that she has never met before in her life, and yet seems so familiar. She's sure she's seen that black hair and those blue eyes before. Men file into the room, surrounding both her and the Doctor now with guns drawn, but it doesn't seem to bother either man, as they stare at each other, both with equal surprise.

"When the scanners picked up the craft, it listed all its qualities. I should have known it be you." The other man says.

"Jack." The Doctor replies, and she is sure, that from the tone in his voice, his pain isn't quite over yet.


	9. Chapter Eight

**an - **I just want to put a shout out to all those reading this fic. Thanks for your support and reviews, I know the story may seem confusing (it's not to me anymore because I've read it a thousand times, since I started it last year in july.) But eventually it gets to a point where thinks start making sense? I hope... honest... no really it should...

* * *

"_Time…" William says, while educating her on Time Lords. "Time isn't linear. Peoples lives, actions— that's what sets a definitive order, and only because humans have no ability to see time for what it really is. He could have only lost you yesterday and here it's been ten years."_

"_A big swirly ball looping in over itself in a constant continuous manner, got it. He once took me home a year after I had left with him the first time, it had only been three days for us. But he had ruined my mum," she tells him, nodding in understanding._

"_That's what makes the word "history" vestigial. Time can rewrite history, and no one would ever know the difference because in our mind it's already happened, or never happened at all. We're all open to interpretation. Time Lords learn this at their century long tenure at the Academy."_

"_Kinda like that movie, _Pulp Fiction_!" she says, rather happy she understands. _

"_Yes," he sighs._ "_Quentin Tarantino's_ _mastered the dynamics of the space_-_time vortex_ _with his unfortunate slights on cinematic art."_

"_Well, I liked them," she mumbles. "So you're saying there is no beginning middle or end…"_

"_Only in fairytales…"_

She walks up the driveway to her mother and Pete's house when she can already hear music and she smiles at the familiarity of the scene, bittersweet and uplifting all in its own way. It's been years now since she last made this walk, only this time around, she remembers to wear gloves. That, and she no longer fears approaching the door and getting disgruntled servants. After all, she fired them all about a year ago. She rings the bell and isn't surprised when the door opens and it's Grace who is on the other end smiling brightly.

"You're home!" she sighs, happily enveloping Rose into an awkward hug, as Grace's pregnant stomach gets in the way.

"Yeah, home sweet home," Rose says, and although she has always hated this spacious and sterile house, she means it.

"Where's Elle?" She asks, pulling her scarf and gloves off as Grace closes the door behind her.

"She's with William in the den." Grace replies.

"_Are you okay?" Grace asks her, placing a hand on her shoulders._

"_After all this, you would think I'd be the one asking you that." She whispers, her face lifting from her hands. Thousands dead and the body rise is on the count, and she still has no idea how to fix this. It's the Sycorax all over again, except this time, people are really dying, and she really doesn't have a Doctor to save her._

"_How's Elle?" Rose asks, the weakness in her voice betraying her._

"_She's with William and Chantelle. She's really taken a liking to him." Grace says smiling, the tears still falling although she lifts her eyes to the ceiling to stop them. She shakes her head and chuckles, "Keeps talking about when we get out of here, how she wants him to take her to the park."_

_There is a silence between them, as Rose swallows but can't manage to get rid of the lump in her throat. The tears that had threatened to spill finally do, as Grace reaches for her hand and holds it tightly._

"_This is not your fault." Grace says, bending to be eye level with her._

"_No, it's not. But I'll be damned if I let them take you all away from me," she says, lifting her eyes determinedly._

"I swear, this kid better turn out to be the savior of all mankind because I never signed up for this," a glowing Graces mumbles as she rubs her enlarged tummy. Rose laughs earnestly and drops her backpack to the floor.

"I thought that was the whole bloody point, at least the last time I checked," she says sniffing and blowing on her hands.

"I know, I just was reiterating that it better," Grace says, pouting a touch and Rose laughs, staring at the woman with her arms crossed over her stomach.

"Oh come now," she says looping her arm through Grace's while the pregnant woman waddles down the hallway towards laughter. As she hears the tinkling sounds, it causes her heart to skip a beat. Maybe it was too soon to come home, maybe she should have stayed in Greece longer, but it's too late to turn back now. She knows she will just have to brave it out.

"The entire conception was a bloody miracle in itself, prophecy fulfilled and all that jazz. You're birthing a new member to a dead race, what more do you want?" she asks.

"I don't know about you but I want French toast with peanut butter," Grace says. Rose stops to turn to Grace with a bemused look on her face, and Grace stops as well. "No? Oh! Um… I guess I mean to say, world peace… yes that's right, I hope for world peace."

Both woman laugh heartily, and Rose just shakes her head as they turn the corner to find a little red-headed girl playing with a short-haired man with daft ears.

_She sees a bright light, she doesn't know how it broke through the darkness that had surrounded her, but it holds her, cradles her in its warmth._

"_What is the meaning of this?!" The Glarecox General asks, outraged by the interruption of the torture they were putting her through. She can see William, his curly locks blowing by the winds of time, and she doesn't understand. She doesn't understand how she can see past the blood in her eyes, why she's still alive, and Grace is dead beside her._

_But slowly her pain is fading, like the glow is healing her, and she sees he's holding the box of Pandora in his hands._

"_Return…" he whispers._

"_Insignificant human, you think you can have us retreat using a box?" The General asks._

"_In normal circumstances, I'd say no… but these are no ordinary circumstances… and do you know why?" William asks the Glarecox General moving slowly and dangerously closer to the alien above her._

_The General tilts his head intrigued, and William continues. _

"_Because this is no ordinary box," he says before lunging towards the beast above her. She expects them to crash to the ground, to roll around and fight, but the enemy has disappeared underneath the weight of her friend, in a burst of brilliant light. It confuses her, takes away some of her thought patterns, but who can think as they die… how many times now? Has it only been the once?_

"_William," she coughs, blood spurting past her lips, and rolling down the side of her mouth to the cold floor below her. He hears her voice and he rolls over to look at her, his blue eyes warm and gentle._

"_Elle…" she chokes out, pain searing through her chest, as she tries to breathe. Everything is getting dimmer, the world slowly loosing focus, but she can still see him, brilliant and bright, as he gets to his knees, crawling to her._

"_I know you have a lot of questions right now, and I can't promise I'll be able to answer them all… But I want you to do me something Rose… I want you to relax… I want you to know that everything is okay, and that you are not alone… and that you are loved," he says, pushing a lock out of her face. _

"_You're going to… Well… you're going to fall asleep now, and when you wake up everything will be okay, alright? But I need you to promise me something." He sorrowfully looks over to Grace, lying lifelessly on the floor not more then a few feet away from them. "This is the second time this has happened to her now." He shakes his head, talking more to himself then her. "You two have more in common than you thought." She wonders what he means by that. Had he been a different person when Grace had first met him? Had she gone through the same sorrow, the same grief all while feeling selfish knowing he was still there? Still she listens, still fights past the pain so she can know. How she's sure she's not going to die she doesn't know, but she trusts him. _

"_She knows about regeneration, but it will still upset her, still take some time. Just tell her... Tell her I... I love her. Rose, tell her I love her."_

Rose's breath hitches in her throat at the sight, too many memories that hurt, too many beautiful sights to take in. She knew all along she would have to see him, but she never expected this. Here he is, reborn into the flesh that she first learned to love, smiling and happy, all while tickling her younger sister.

Both he and Elle look up, his intense blue eyes and hers almost identical, you would swear that she was his child with Grace, and her heart somersaults into her mouth. She feels the world around her almost blacken under their beautiful eyes, before she hears her sister's voice break her from the intense spell he is weaving around her.

"Rose!" Elle cries and she's up and out from underneath him, and into her waiting arms.

"Oh my goodness!" Rose says, the tears spilling down her cheeks as she holds the six-year-old in her arms tightly. "Oh my Elle, you've grown so much in six months!"

"You should see how strong she is!" a familiar northern accent rings out. "Jus' about knocked my head right off!"

She looks up to see him standing there, his hands in his denim pockets, still partial to plain jumpers. His hair is a bit longer this time around, and he's grown a beard recently but it's still all too familiar, a face she left behind years ago. She watches as he takes one hand out of the pockets and wraps it around Grace, looking down at her tummy with adoration in his eyes. It's enough to make Rose squeeze out even a few more tears.

_She sits in the middle of a circle surrounded by what she can only describe as a bunch of cult-like religious alien men who continue to chant on and on and on, deep in a cave off the coast of some city in Greece. The waves crash sporadically into the shore, over and over blue against white sand. It's almost worthy of being defined as otherworldly. She isn't here to vacation, she's here to learn, and so she has really no idea where they've taken her. Weeks ago, she thinks, if they had first started with this process, she probably would have turned on her heel and left without ever finding out what was in store for her._

"_There was a great battle: the Glarecox against the humans," the head priest, Obo says._

_She nods, laying there in a white shift as they all chant, and wave their hands above her. _

_All their steely eyes glint in the darkness, too big and far apart to seem human, to seem not dangerous, but it doesn't alarm her. They are a peaceful bunch, quiet and ethereal. _

"_But we, the ancient race of the Ouroboros came out of hiding and helped the humans defeat the impending doom of the Glarecox with the help of the Time Lord. In doing so, we fulfilled our prophecy, and by bringing back his wife, the Time Lord fulfilled his by having her conceive. Lives were lost, and blood was shed, but the prophecy was brought to the attention of The Wolf, The Vessel and the man the universe knows as 'The Doctor.' But this was only the beginning, for to prepare for the future, The Vessel and the Doctor had to birth The Protector." He says as he sprinkles water over her forehead and she can smell something burning in the distance. She knows it's the cast iron heating up over the open fire. She isn't supposed to know what they are doing, but she knows it involves them branding her skin with their symbol. It varies much differently from the one she knows, but she can still see it as a snake eating its own tail, a sign for the infinite. She wonders if they can smell out of the small slits they have for noses, but she shakes the thought away and tries to focus on the ceremony._

"_You are a wolf in sheep's clothing," Obo says, his voice carrying deeper into the darkened cave. Torches burn, mostly for her to see what she's doing, since they seem to have exceptional eyesight in the dark._

"_The Vessel will fade, and the Doctor will be called away, but the Protector will need protection. You are the missing piece. You are the link to connect it all. You will be here when the Great War wipes out time and space. Are you willing to be trained to take on that task?"_

_She closes her eyes, and sees visions of space being altered, the Doctor and a redheaded woman lying in a bed, William in the park watching Elle from a bench, the ginger child, of a war she's heard of but never been witness to, one she's always wondered about, but never had the courage to ask._

"_Yes."_

"Rose…" Elle says into her shoulder. "Rose, you're hurting me."

"OH!" she replies, feeling rather silly. She strokes the hair out of her sisters face. "Sorry honey. I'm just really happy to see you."

Elle smiles at her and takes her by the hand, leading her to the couch in front of the fire. A tree is set up in the corner with tons of presents that Rose assumes are mostly for the young girl in her arms.

"William said I had to wait till you came home before we could open them," Elle says before turning and looking at the man in question. "Can I open them now? Please?"

"Oi! You're a cheeky monkey you are, you know I meant Christmas day." He picks her up and turns her upside down to tickle her in mid-air. She giggles, kicking and squealing at the onslaught.

"Oh, let her open one now. She's been a good girl," Grace says as she clears the dishes from the coffee table.

_They even sound like Elle's parents, _Rose thinks. But before she can decide if that's a good or bad thing, Grace looks up at her and adds politely, "That is, if it's okay with you Rose."

_She's sitting there with a double sided photo case in her hands. On one side is her mother and father, Mickey and her, with Elle in her lap. The other is of Grace and William, curly locks and all, with herself and Elle once more. Only this time, Elle looks like she's gotten older, where she has stayed precisely the same. She knows that only a few years had passed between the two pictures, but it's still a symbol of what has yet to come. In coming here she had learned what the Greeks call her _fatum_, her destiny. _

"_This is your family?" Obo asks behind her_ _. They are peaceful, and she is learning to feel that peace, to internalize it they way they have for centuries. She feels his cool hand touch her shoulder. The skin is hard and smooth, somewhat like scales, but it still warms her._

"_Old and new," she whispers, tucking the picture away in her backpack and he drops his hand from her shoulder._

"_Have you decided to tell them?" he asks her._

"_I'm going to have to eventually," she says, stopping for a moment before adding, "I'm sure he already knows."_

"_Quite possibly. It's hard to slip anything past the Time Lords, they see all there is, all there was, and…"_

"_All there ever could be, I know," she finishes, sitting down to change her shoes from runners to hiking boots._

"_I forget sometimes, that you have traveled with him, that you are not from our universe." He makes a noise that sounds like a laugh and a snake hissing. "You look perturbed child."_

"_I'm just thinking," she says, half way through tying them before she stops. "Not once did the prophecy mention… my Doctor."_

"_We discussed that when you first came," he replies, no hesitation no or regret in his voice, and she shakes her head and continues to tie the laces._

"_I know… like I said I was just thinking…"_

"_You came here looking for answers, and you only got more questions. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you, knowing you'll live to see them all die." _

"_It wouldn't be the first time," he tells him, sniffing her nose and continuing to pack. __"I don't think I'm ready."_

"_I know it seems hard, and to be honest it always will. You will always struggle between finding inner peace and taming the wild beast." _

_She turns to face the alien who has guided her the last six months. _

"_How did you do it?" she asks._

"_It took centuries to master these feelings, centuries of prayer and meditation." His thin lips curling up into a smile._

"_I guess I should give you a ring in a few centuries to see how I'm progressing." She slips the bag over her shoulders and winces._

"_How is your neck?" She had been right about the branding, they did it right at the base of her neck. It hadn't been as painful as she had thought it would be. After the ceremony was over, a few of the elders blessed the marking and the pain had subsided. He walks her through the cave in silence, past the others, all meditating in silence, all calm and peaceful. Once they reach the cave's entrance she turns to face him, wondering what she's supposed to do. They just spent the last six months together; is it appropriate to hug your snake-like alien spiritual leader? Or is that tasteless?_

"_It was destiny that brought you here, to this universe Rose. The Ouroboros foresaw it. You are the chosen. It shall be a lonely path, but a noble one."_

Rose looks at the upside down girl, all the blood rushing to her head, yet so silent and still, William waiting pensively for a decision, and Grace standing at attention.

Shrugging her shoulders and smiling carelessly she says, "Who am I to deny that face?"

Elle squeals as William places her right side up so she can set about opening her allowed gift. Chantelle, the nanny who has been so close to Elle, sits across from them, half dozing off in the warmth of the room.

"Hey Chantelle, how have you been?" Rose asks her, genuinely interested in the younger woman's reply. Chantelle had been there through it all, when Jackie and Pete died, when the almost-apocalypse happened and many secrets had been revealed, finding out that "William" was really an alien and that Rose was really Elle's sister, about time travel and alternate dimensions and the true intentions of Torchwood. She had stayed, and persevered through it all.

"Oh you know, same old, same old." Chantelle's voice manages to creak out, before adding with a smile, "I met someone…"

"Did you?" Rose asks, her interest somewhat piqued.

"Not much to do when Elle's in school. So I've been looking into some lessons myself. His name is Erik, he's a student too, came here from America, but used to live in Scotland. He's a nice bloke, and I fancy him." Chantelle says and Rose smiles as Elle jumps up into her lap and tears into her gift.

"You're getting to big to do that now Elle," Chantelle tells her. But Elle gives her a displeased looks and shrugs before she goes back to the present. Chantelle shakes her head before turning back to Rose. "What about you? did you find what you needed out in Greece?"

"Somewhat…" Rose replies gently.

* * *

"It's a transdimensional subconscious image viewer. Essentially, it picks up on REM sleeping patterns and it chronicles the images. It's not perfected, you can only see images and sounds, and so any dreams requiring pre-existing knowledge will hardly make any sense…" 

"So it's a magic dream recorder."

"You should know by now just from being with the Doctor that nothing is magic."

"Oh, I dunno, sometimes it sure seems like it. Have you ever tried it out?"

"The magic dream recorder?"

"I see you two are getting along well," the Doctor says, and Martha at him standing ion the doorway of Jack's office. They had eaten lunch while he had gone to talk with a few scientists about their acquired technology. It's then that Jack gets up from his seat, and circles the table.

"We are, thank you very much. She's quite cute Doc; when'd you pick her up? 2010? 2015?" Jack asks, winking at Martha.

"That's my wife, I'll have you know," the Doctor says, nodding his head over to Martha and walking to sit down opposite from her, a coffee in his hand.

"So I heard," Jack says bitterly. "It seems you've had lots of adventures since me we last met, haven't you?"

The Doctor just takes a sip of his drink and rests his chin on his hand. Martha can feel the weight of his exhaustion pushing against her, bending her mind's barriers and causing her to reach out and hold him. He needs rest, but right now he's just too occupied. He doesn't let Jack bait him this time, but instead gazes directly at Martha and she nods in understanding and holds out her hand to him. He takes it from across the table and laces his long soft fingers through hers. This is all she can do to support him.

"When did you start drinking coffee?" Jack seems intrigued by the bond between the two.

"He didn't," Martha replies, keeping her gaze fixed on the Doctor.

_You need sleep._

_**I've been sleeping too much lately.**_

_It doesn't matter—you're exhausted._

_**I can't afford to loose consciousness right now**_

_Why?_

_**Because if I do, I'll think it was all just a dream.**_

"He's just switching for the caffeine."

"You really ARE his wife, aren't you— answering questions for each other. Watch out though kids, soon the honeymoon ends and you're left fighting over how to redecorate the TARDIS and who's going to go ask for directions." His voice drips with cruel sarcasm.

Martha lets go of the Doctor's hand and looks up at Jack briefly to smile, then looks away. She feels the Doctor's need to be alone with his old friend, to catch up and to probably once more, talk about the tragedy of loosing Rose. She thinks she's a fairly reasonable person, but she can only hear the same story so many times before it gets tedious— even if she isn't in love with him.

"Jack?" she asks quietly, standing.

"Yes?"

"Is the TARDIS no longer quarantined? I'd like to be able to get to my room, possibly have a nap; it's been a long day."

Jack then pushes a little button on a wrist communicator and begins talking to someone on the other end. Once finished, he tells her she shouldn't have any problems. The door closes behind her and both men stand there in silence, both too proud to say anything, both trying to be the bigger man.

"Jack, about Satellite Five-"

"Don't worry about it," Jack interrupts. "I'm alive, right? Two hands, two feet, which is more then I can say for you."

"Jack-"

"Besides, I made it back. Didn't really expect to be with you forever."

"You need to know, I didn't know... but then I did, I saw your future without me, and it was one much more fulfilling. It was for the..."

"Oh don't you patronize me. The great and mysterious Doctor, always knowing what is best," Jack spat vehemently at him, a sense of loathing hanging in the air.

"If you stayed with me, you were going to die," the Doctor tells him, his voice dangerously calm. If Jack had known this tenth incarnation better, he would know this is the sign not to keep pushing, but Jack doesn't, so he doesn't stop.

"I already had! Better than being left behind, being left like this!" he raves, charging towards the other man, throwing the chair between them to the floor.

"I KILLED YOU ONCE; I WASN'T GOING TO DO IT AGAIN!" the Doctor bellows out, standing his ground. The words echo around them, a constant reminder. He feels Jack searching his eyes, and he is desperate for the former Time Agent to find his sincerity. Jack just smiles and shakes his head, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes.

"I never could really be mad at you, especially now— you're just too cute." He takes Martha's chair and turns it around, sitting on it backwards, resting his arms along the top. "Is that why you made me like this? Made me so I couldn't die?"

"What are you talking about?" the Doctor asks, falling into another chair.

"You brought me back, and ever since you did… Let's just say there were side effects."

"I didn't bring you back," he murmurs.

There is a pressing silence between them, a silence that he knows it's up to him to break. Jack at least deserves to know what happened to him.

"It was Rose. She absorbed the time vortex. With all the power of time running through her, she wiped out the entire fleet of Daleks. She altered it, stitched it up new so that you were brought back, but it was too late. She was burning like the sun and she wouldn't let go. So I absorbed it and regenerated."

"I was wondering how that had happened. Working here gave me access to all files regarding your existence and they had already started collecting a profile on you. When I finally found images of you and Rose, I knew then for sure."

He's sure Jack is going to start playing twenty questions, and he doesn't really know if he's prepared to answer him yet, but he will, because Jack has earned that.

"About Rose…" He starts off with the eternal question.

"Gone," the Doctor replies.

"Dead." The tone of Jack's voice is so forced, almost as if he's trying to be professional, and if he doesn't try so hard, he'll break.

"Safe," he reassures him, and he watches as Jack's face contorts in confusion.

"But she was on the list of the dead, I saw it… Hell I was the one who had to put her on it."

"She's not dead. I just…I lost her…"

Again they sit in silence for a few moments before he sighs and takes another sip of the coffee. "There was a tear between this universe and the one she's in now. The first time, we ran into some Cybermen, war on earth and all that rubbish. When everything was set right, Mickey decided he wanted to stay behind."

Jack's eyes bulge slightly at the name. "Mickey the Idiot?"

"Mickey the Saviour, I guess, in the end. Something changed him. But… he… Anyways, we left without him, met up with Satan."

"Satan, as in Prince of Darkness? Fallen Angel? Lucifer? The Devil?" Jack asks casually.

"The very same."

"How is he doing these days?"

"Imploding in on himself within a black hole," the Doctor says matter-of-factly.

"That's it? Seems pretty short n' sweet for the master of all evil."

"No, something else happened," the Doctor adds hesitantly.

"What?" Jack asks.

"Rose started talking about shared mortgages," he tells him, almost fidgeting in his seat.

"Oh no," Jack sighs, putting his head in his hands.

"No, it wasn't that— well, it was that, but we had lost the TARDIS, then I was absolutely sure I'd never see her again…"

_Ida and he are stranded at the bottom of the pit, he is out of rope and he knows the only way that there is any hope of making it out of this is to continue downward. _Contingency plans… quick think, think…Resources, always cover what you have, _he thinks. About an hour of oxygen, about two kilometers of wire, and he left his sonic screwdriver in his jacket pocket. If it was just him, if it was just him and Ida or just him and the rest of the crew, he'd go on without hesitation, but he thinks of her face, her willingness to go down with him, how she probably would look at this moment, standing there, waiting… always waiting for him because he said he would be back. He thinks of her bright eyes, her beans on toast, the way she makes him laugh. He thinks of holding her hand, and showing her the universe, thinks of what it would have been like to show her the birth of the Elysium star, to take her to meet the real Phantom of the Opera, since it was her favorite musical. _

"_If they get back in touch... if you talk to Rose... just tell her... Tell her I..." And thoughts run through his head, as if he's standing in front of a screen that is playing many different home movies of things that have happened, things that have yet to happen, and things that may __never happen, depending on the outcome of every choice. He feels the warmth of the emotions of the people in the films, and he can see them, but they are always just out of his reach._

"_Oh, she knows," he says more to himself than the woman above him before letting go of his line._

"Doctor?" he hears Jack say as the head of Torchwood places his hand over top of the Doctor's.

"Hmm?" he says, waking out of his reverie.

"What happened? Nothing in this universe could have torn you apart."

_Nothing in **this** universe could have torn you apart._

Two tears fall down his cheeks and he pulls his hand away, laughing slightly as he wipes at them. Looking back to the man in front of him, he can see Jack's surprise, and how he is holding his tongue.

"Interesting. That hasn't happened in quite some time." His voice is barely above a whisper. Looking away from Jack, he lets out a shaky breath.

"A tear of that magnitude cannot exist without getting worse. I took Rose back to her mother, and we saw the damage. People thought they were ghosts—fools," he says, his hands bawled in front of his mouth.

"Who?"

"Torchwood, the world, Rose and I. I've gone over it again and again in my head. The only thing I did wrong was not tell her."

Jack doesn't need to ask to know what he means.

"So she and Jackie are on the other side?"

"With Pete and Mickey."

Jack's eyes widen in surprise at the mention of Rose's dead father's name. "Alive?" he asks.

"And quite well off," the Doctor adds. "The safest and best place in all the universes to leave her."

"But still, to leave her," Jack says, knowing that this was never what he wanted. He knew from the first day he set foot in the TARDIS that the Doctor was hopelessly in love with Rose. It doesn't shock him that this regeneration feels just as strongly.

"Exactly," he nods, before looking up at the man who is pacing around the small room.

He sits there in silence while Jack processes everything he just told him. They can't look at each other, it seems. They are both unable to meet in the middle and mourn together. At least, that is what he assumes.

And in this case, his assumptions are wrong.

"Well," says Jack, slamming his hands down on the side of the table as he looks at a surprised Doctor. "I guess we'll just have to answer her call."

* * *

"_After completing the Academy, a Gallifreyan received the title of "Time Lord" and was injected with a batch of the genetically engineered organisms that could completely renew their bodies a maximum of twelve times, giving them thirteen lives."_

"_Wait a second… so… You aren't born with thirteen lives?"_

"_No, I think I just explained that."_

"_How did they decide on thirteen lives? Did they play with the dosage or was that the first batch and everyone figured that thirteen was good enough?" _

"_That's a question only Rassilion could answer, I suppose. I know it had to do with the Vampire Wars."_

"_Your people never asked this? They never thought 'oh boy, I'm about to inject my body with foreign organisms so I can sustain thirteen lives. Why thirteen? Why not!'"_

"_No… Maybe? Do you ever stop with your incessant banter?"_

"_No. So logically, it's possible then that if you got a hold of another batch of the stuff, you could get yourself a whole new set of regenerations."_

"_Yes, technically, I suppose, but I never would do that."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because thirteen lives are enough at a few centuries for each. A soul can only take so much Rose, and we were trained to be able to psychologically handle it. Without that training… well I can only imagine…"_

"Rose?" He asks from across the room.

"Hmmm?" she answers sleepily. Apparently she had begun to doze off and the only people left in the den are her and a man who strangely looks like the first man she ever truly loved.

"Grace took Elle to bed and went herself. I know you were waiting for them to go before we discussed what the Ouroboros told you in Greece," he says, his arms crossed in front of him— he almost seems like hers, like he's brooding or angry to some extent, shutting himself away from her like he always did. The jumper (sans leather jacket) doesn't help as the thought vanishes, and she sits up properly on the couch and clears her throat.

"Yes, well, they told me about the Prophecy. Grace's and your child, they said someone will need to protect the child when push comes to shove, but…you already know this," she says, wondering why she's even telling him, and deciding to challenge him on it. "So why are you making me retell you?"

He just remains silent, staring at her through his intense blue eyes. She feels her throat drying and wishes she hadn't given up drinking. A glass of gin would calm the uneasiness she feels.

"When I regenerated so we could give life to this child, I didn't think we'd be making you such an integral part to its upbringing. I'm sorry we never asked you. I'm sorry we never actually thought about the situation before plowing ahead with it," he tells her, leaning over and rubbing his eyes.

She shifts nervously and giggles lightly, trying to make the unease within her settle "Oh, come on, it's not that bad. So I'll be the little tyke's sitter, God mother thingy for awhile. I… um… it doesn't mean we don't have to stop looking for ways to rebuild or find a TARDIS. Maybe we'll just build our OWN time machine?" she says, feeling rather silly. She doesn't know how to please him and finds it rather disturbing she feels such a dire need too.

"Right… of course," he says, and it seems rather forced as he places both hands on his knees looking at his knuckles and more so, focusing on his wedding band.

"You must really love her," she blurts out, wishing she had learned years ago how to keep her mouth shut. But he doesn't really react to what she says, and she almost wonders if he was too deep in thought to hear her.

"Humans and their love. I am a fool, a fool in love, yes. But what most don't understand is love, although it may be eternal, it is an always fluctuating and unpredictable beast. To say I love Grace with all my hearts, is to say the sky is blue, but…" he says, looking up at Rose. "In a different universe, on a different Earth, I loved you. The sky is blue in that universe as well, is it not?"

She doesn't know how to respond, as her eyes begin to well with tears that she is terrified of spilling. She doesn't dare move, and that includes her lips, so she has no way to reply to his question.

She is sure she wasn't meant too.

He sighs and scratches his head as he gets up, not looking at her, and she is thankful for it.

"Good night Rose," he says, leaving the den to return to the room she had given him and his wife when she had left the country in search of herself.

She sits there motionless still, staring off into space, listening to the song.

"Goodnight, Doctor." She says, daring to let a tear spill from one eye.

* * *

The projector's constant whirling hums to a stop as the lights go on, his eyes adjusting to the new light.

"What was the purpose of that? I understand all the fundamentals of time travel— this was like I was at a third-grade lesson," the Doctor says, holding his hand out to the screen and looking at Jack. Jack, who still hasn't explained what he meant by 'answering her call,' nods his head in understanding.

"You said you can't get back to her, right? Said there was no feasible way, that it was impossible."

"Yes, that's correct," the Doctor responds suspiciously, and Jack grabs the slide tray out of the projector and places it on the table.

"Let's say that the slide is this universe, and this one right behind it is the universe that Rose is in. Now, according to you, there was a huge hole punched right through these universes, causing them to almost collapse into each other. Makes sense, especially with an anti-matter ship roaring through without any care, it would be like a ball bearing trying to break through this image into the other." He says, creating a circle from the slides. "So, jagged edges, huge hole that wasn't needed really. But what if, someone created a hole by essentially taking a hot pin and searing a tiny hole through it?"

"That is repairable, over time, and barely noticeable. It's still quite dangerous, leaving a universe's defenses down," the Doctor says, and Jack can see him using his brilliant brain to figure out the possibilities.

"Still, we are fumbling fools. If the Daleks had the power to create a cauterized wound in time they would have done so as well. What good is taking over a universe if you cannot enjoy your reign?" he asks, somewhat defeated.

"I guess. But, who's to say that WE create the wound? What if the wound and the path was created for us? A path right to the back of Rose's universe?" He lightly touches all the slides in the circle, slowly making his way over to the last slide.

"Universes aren't separated out like that; they're a big jumbled mess." The Doctor's voice is dangerous, as if afraid to believe the possibility.

"Yes, true, if you want to think like that. So is human DNA, but think about human DNA in its most basic form. Imagine if all of that pesky coursing was taken care of for us." Jack folds his arms, a sly grin on his face.

"Jack, what are you trying to tell me? That we can travel from universe to universe to find Rose?"

"Basically, yes." Jack sits up and rests his arms against the table, looking the Doctor straight in the eye.

But the Doctor just shakes his head. "No, this is crazy, this is stupid…We can't do this. Again we are leaving these universes vulnerable if we start punching holes through them—"

"_Searing_ holes through them. And you keep forgetting, these holes are already there. We didn't create them, we stumbled upon their blatancy like a child trying to find water in a pond.".

"Children drowned in ponds Jack."

"The creator seemed quite intent on making it known that they were there for us to use. It was only after you told me about losing Rose that it made sense. We were going to send a surveillance team in, but the technology that we have is either broken or limited. You are the only one with a TARDIS."

"Is that why you pulled me back to this universe with that giant power surge?" he asks somewhat angrily, his hands splayed against the smooth table.

"No! Again, it wasn't us; it was merely a coincidence, thus leading me to further believe that Rose has a hand in this. It seems a little random that we managed to blindly reach out and pull you back to us from some random universe."

"I just don't see how I couldn't have noticed floating through the void from universe to universe." he mumbles, his hands folded on the cold surface in front of him.

"Have you been sleeping a lot lately? Does the TARDIS seems to need more repairs?"

The Doctor's head shoots up. "The TARDIS always needs more repairs," he answers, but it's too late. He's already thinking of the possibilities. Both men know what that means, know what that implies. It just says that someone has been pulling the wool over his eyes, has been trying to sneak their intentions in, but not maliciously. It screams Rose all over.

It's then that the Doctor thinks of the situation, of all that Jack knows, of how he managed to make it here. He stands, and slowly slides away from the desk, his body feeling disoriented. Something is off—he feels foggy, like someone is clouding his judgment. He remembers that he has felt this before, but at first does not know where.

"Jack," he asks rather cautiously, scared to know the reason behind it. "How do you know all of this? This technology and theory is far advanced. How would you even know to reach out blindly through the holes in the fabric?"

"Well," Jack says hesitantly, looking away, while scratching the back of his head. "The thing is it already has sorta happened."

"How do you mean, it's already happened?" The Doctor paces slowly towards Jack, and then it hits him like a wall. He knows exactly what the feeling is, and his throat constricts as he tries to swallow, his hearts ready to burst from his chest, his ears ringing in sensitivity.

"I thought it was you, but it turned out I was wrong. They just sorta showed up one day, taught me…" Jack starts, as they both hear the footsteps coming down the hall steadily towards them.

"No," the Doctor whispers, wanting to back up and press himself to the wall, but he is too proud to. He wants to close his eyes, to shut out the sight, but he can't because it's too surreal and beautiful to see her standing there, too crazy and wonderful and strange all in one.

"Hello Doctor," she says, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders, standing there in a power suit.

"Romana?"


	10. Chapter Nine

**AN:** This is only half a chapter. My lovely Beta could not beta the entire thing before today so we debated whether or not to post at all. I guess I thought half a chapter was better then no chapter at all, especially since this chapter (in original format) was 18 pages long (That's with 8.5 font!)

Three songs used in this portion of the chapter goes as the following.

- Spaceman by Bif Naked  
- Possession by Sarah Mclachlan  
- Roads by Portishead

and on with the show...

* * *

"Can I see some I.D., miss?" a tall bald man asks Rose from behind the velvet rope. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she lifts her jumper and shirt to grab her passport from a concealed belt she wears at her waist.

"All right!" she hears one guy say behind her and a few laugh and clap.

"Take it as a compliment Rose!" Chantelle yells above the music that's blaring from inside of the darkened building. She can hear it word for word, although she tries her best not to listen.

**_…Spaceman, oh spaceman! Come rescue me from this! Calling all aliens! Come rescue me!…_**

Rose smiles as best she can at her friend, who's arm in arm with two other women on the other side of the rope.

"I would love to get asked for my I.D." says Grace smiling gently, patting Rose's arm to try and calm her nerves. The bouncer looks at the picture and then, with a surprised look, back to Rose. His eyes squint a touch as he looks at her, then back to the passport in his hand. Glaring at him angrily, she listens to the music and sounds around her as he takes his time. She already hates it here in the United States- she hates how hot it is, and how she always has to show her I.D. to get in anywhere. She hates how it's summer and how she was tortured into wearing a t-shirt and jeans for the first time in years. She hates how Chantelle keeps dragging her from club to club with a couple of giggly fools who waste her time.

**_…You never come to call on me… When I'm the one who's waiting for you.. I really need you…_**

"You sure don't look 32 Miss Tyler," the bald giant gruffly tells her, suspicion still clouding his voice.

"33 this April," she says, snatching her passport back, smiling as politely as she can. The hesitating bouncer nods and another man with him opens the rope to let the ladies into the club.

Chantelle's other friends giggle as they lead the way into a dark room.

"Slags," Rose murmurs, to which Grace shushes her and giggles. Both women look at each other and smile evilly. It ends up helping Rose's mood. Where other people may enjoy it, Rose hates the fact that she still looks twenty. It bothers her that in a few years people will think that Grace may pass for her mother. It annoys her that Chantelle is younger then her and is getting married and into bars without any hesitation, at least, in America.

"Why are you getting married here, again?" Rose asks Chantelle.

"Because this is where Erik's parents are and they're getting on now. His dear mum is terrified of flying," she says, sipping the bluish drink one of her annoyingly giggly friends bought her.

"How'd they get here from Scotland then?' Rose asks.

"It's called a boat," the girl named Nancy says. "People back then used them to travel loooong distances."

Lucy bursts into a fit of giggles over the remark and for the first time in years, Rose feels her anger begin to boil over. Prickles tingle all over her skin like gooseflesh, and her beast stirs in its hibernating state. Closing her eyes, she squeezes her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, breaking the skin and drawing blood. It's the pain that blocks out the anger, the pain that calms her and causes her beast to go back to sleep. When she opens her eyes, Chantelle gives her a helpless look that says she's sorry, but it means nothing coming from her. It's been Nancy who has been irritating her the entire evening of this hen night- _bachelorette party_; Lucy and Nancy corrected her earlier. It's Lucy whose annoying laugh has been grating on her nerves.

"I don't really know them; I just found them on the street and paid them 20 pounds each to be bridesmaids so I didn't look like a recluse," Chantelle laughs, putting her drink on the table and giving the girls a warning look, which they ignore and walk away from.

Once they are closer to the dance floor, Grace chimes in. "Too bad you didn't hold auditions."

Both women laugh, but Rose just continues to glare at the unaware girls across the way.

"Rose, you know that that's the reason why you're my maid of honor right?" Chantelle says, trying to create some peace. "You are my best friend- employer yes, but one of my best friends."

Rose is almost tempted to tell her she knows that Chantelle asked Grace first. Grace didn't know if they could take baby Peter, and she was forced to refuse, which meant Chantelle ended up asking Rose. She was _almost_ tempted, but not enough to blame her.

In this universe, she has come to the resolution she'll always be second best.

Closing her eyes, she remembers her dreams from the night before, jumbled slivers of a past life and her current one, insecurities and pride combined. She remembers seeing Jack, her Jack, and having him in her flat. But it was messy, and the harder she tried the clean it, the messier it got. She kept finding piles and piles of plates with toast crusts and caked on beans as she desperately tried to prove to Jack she was his Rose. But he just shook his head and walked out on her.

The next dream was of her in a void ship, a metallic window showing her void. She saw another void ship approach, and she knew her Doctor was aboard it. He was there and she was waiting for him to save them, save her from floating aimlessly through void, no momentum to drive her forward, to stop her from just sitting there. She calls to him, banging on the window, as his ship comes hurdling towards her, somewhat like the Newton's cradle game she has on desk back at home. She remembers thinking, _but the ball bearings at home have strings holding them in place; keep them from being knocked into obl…_ But it had been too late- he crashed into her, a smile on his face, numbness in his eyes, as she went hurtling through complete nothingness, with no chance of slowing down or stopping.

"You're going to need to get me really drunk," Rose tells Grace once Chantelle is dragged away by the rest of her bridal party.

"I thought you quit drinking?" Grace asked suspiciously.

"I did, until I felt _it_ rising." They watch Lucy and Nancy force Chantelle to start dancing to the song beginning to play.

Sighing, she takes the drink that Chantelle had left on the table and sucks it back. It is times like this she misses Mickey; Mickey who always let her just be herself. He never expected her to pretend to be anything different, he just let her be. Their dancing was infrequent, at best, but it was nice to know she had someone who understood her. It's now that she realizes she hasn't had release since his death five years ago. Sighing, she decides to deal with the entire situation with one brilliant solution.

"_It's_ rising?" Grace comments surprised. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I know it hasn't happened in years. I know that those six months out in Greece were suppose to make it so it didn't ever happen again. I know! Okay!?" The truth was, she was a bit worried. She did uproot her life for half a year to learn how to control the animal within her so that she could sleep better, so that she wasn't forced to take medication that made her feel numb inside, and most of all, so she could control her anger.

"Won't alcohol make it worse?" Grace asks as Rose waves down a waitress.

"Whaddya sellin"?" she asks the woman with the tray.

"I've got sourpuss shots for $2, and tequila for $7," The waitress responds.

Grace watches as Rose pulls a ten dollar bill out of her back pocket and hands it over, when it occurs to her that she hasn't seen the brunette in jeans since she's known her, and wonders why she would avoid them that much.

"No actually, on the contrary," she answers as she shoots the vile liquid and instantly makes a face.

"It might get me to a point where I just don't care what they say. Next time though, remind me to get a lime."

* * *

"Hello Doctor," she says, with her golden hair flowing down her shoulders, standing there in a power suit. She's aged slightly, at least this version of her has, and he can smell Paris surrounding her.

"Romana?" he asks, and there is no surprise left in his voice, no energy left to be baffled once more. It only makes sense in some mysterious way that she is here, the one who has taught them everything they need to know.

"You don't look any different," he comments.

"You do," she smiles, and it's a sly challenge. She subtly is trying to prove her superiority over him, which is something he thinks he can remember about her, and yet is not used too, at least, not anymore. It's been so long since he first met her, a few hundred years now?

"Yes, well… Earth street gangs, the time war, some trouble with the ladies more than just the once," he says. She widens her eyes a little in surprise, but smiles knowingly. "The usual. How about you, Romana? Or should I call you Madame President?"

"You could always call me Fred," she says, and he smiles. Romana, she's like a crisp autumn breeze, refreshing but is still slightly cold. Romana, the one who got away, the one who taught him everyone can change, and oh, how she has changed. He never was surprised that she outgrew him.

He watches as she shakes her head. "Yes, its still President, at least, where we have come from. It's good to know that things have not changed that much from universe to universe," she says, and turns guiltily to Jack. "Oh, sorry, did he not know yet? Or have you told him?"

Jack smiles and shakes his head, "No, I hadn't told him as much yet, though I had hoped he had understood what I had been leading to."

The Doctor returns the smiles of the two people in front of him and he feels as though he has been a fool, a feeling he rather doesn't like, but he maintains his composure.

"I see you two must have had a good chuckle over the situation. Here I thought you were of this universe. It only makes sense that you were as strong and capable in any other universe," he tells her, bowing his head a little in her direction and placing his hands in his pockets.

"Oh don't be upset, Doctor," she says brightly, walking towards him with her hand outstretched. "I was sincere about my gratefulness at the fact that this universe seems in many ways somewhat similar. After all, it means we will be able to work more efficiently and move into a pattern where we both succeed and do not having to relearn each others personalities and habits."

He takes her hand in his and he remembers it being as soft as the last time he held it. Visions of a beautiful Time Lady with the same face laughing as he dragged her through the streets of France flashed through his head, and he wonders if she's reading his thoughts right now. He already begins to wonder as to this Romana's history, why she's here, and what she's looking for.

"We should get started," she says, turning on her heel and he follows her out the small door. She doesn't wait for Jack and he's not surprised, though he wishes he could remember if she had always been like this. Memories are a funny thing- after a long amount of time the exact details are reduced down to phrases and feelings, things that only hold sentimental value over time, not true fact.

"So tell me," he says, after catching up to her and walking side by side with her, as equals.

"Have you ever been to Paris?"

* * *

**_…Voices trapped in yearning, Memories trapped in time, The night is my companion, And solitude my guide, Would I spend forever here, And not be satisfied…_**

She's dancing. Somehow they stumbled upon an after hours dance club and she didn't mind at all when the bouncer asked for her I.D. She doesn't remember what happened to the other girls, though she vaguely remembers Grace taking her passport.

_"This way, I know where you are," she had said, worry etched into her face._

It really doesn't matter right now, because she's a part of the music. Every part of her body is in tune with the song. She can feel every note, sense every word, and move to the hidden beat, something a Jimmy told her about when she was younger.

_"It's like a slower beat to the song," he told her when she asked why he was dancing so slow and sensuous to an upbeat track playing. _

"It's the thing about house, trance whatever you want to call it," he said, taking her hips with his hands and slowing her to his pace. "Most of 'em have it. You jus' gotta find it. 'Cuz once ya do, it jus' clicks." And just like that, she had feels her first hidden beat.

She feels the heat surrounding her, the music so loud there is no room in her brain to think, so she dances.

**_…Through this world I've stumbled, So many times betrayed, Trying to find an honest word, To find the truth enslaved…_**

She dances, her body belonging to the music around her, the sound drowning out everything but her own heartbeat. It's a remix, for some reason someone thought they needed to make it sound more like a dance song- why, she'll never know. But as she listens to the lyrics, she lets her body writhe to the slow beat of the original, her shirt riding up her midriff, her hair damp from the heat in the club. She feels as one with every dancer there, she feels loved, and that she has a purpose, and that purpose is to keep moving. She closes her eyes and imagines him, his locks half falling in his eyes, his trademark brown trench flowing behind him as he weaves his way through the dancers towards her.

_…Rose…_ She thinks whispers through her mind, the way it did so many years ago, beckoning her to come to him, through hell and high water, and if she didn't know better, she would believe he had really come back for her.

_…Rose…_ Whispers faintly through her, but louder than the pulse she keeps in tune with, but she pays no heed to the heavy northern accent.

**_…Oh you speak to me in riddles and, You speak to me in rhymes, My body aches to breathe your breath, You words keep me alive…_**

_…Rose…_ he calls to her again, and it's closer this time, close enough for her to know he's near. It's when she feels a firm hand on her side she turns to see him.

"William," she slurs, smiling and continuing to dance as he stands there. She got used to calling him William when he was in his other form; it was an easy constant reminder that he didn't belong to her. It wasn't until he regenerated that old emotions came flooding back to the surface, causing her to flee. She keeps swaying to the music, letting the song control her actions.

_…It's time to go home, Grace is worried sick about you, no one had any idea where you were so she tried ca-_

"Stop it," she says aloud, narrowing her eyes at his unmoving mouth, "Jus' get out of my head." she adds and begins to back away. He's ruining it, he's here to ruin her fun, he wants her to stop dancing and she's not ready to go home. He catches her hand and pulls her stumbling back towards him.

**_…The path I fear to tread, Oh into the sea of waking dreams, I follow without pride…_**

"It's too loud in here, you can't hear me, so I'm making it easier," he yells to her.

"What?" she yells back. He rolls his eyes and pulls her tight against his body.

"I said, I'm tryin' to respect your boundaries, but it's very loud in here so it's easier to communicate through telepathic link," he says into her ear, his hot breath brushing against her cheek, his body firm against hers, and she fights the urge to shudder.

"So wha', you can go rummaging aroun' up there?" she accuses, slowly moving against him. It's not a seduction technique, she just can't help herself. The music owns her now and she needs to keep moving- the price for her blissful fog, the price for how many tequila shots she's consumed. He stiffens against the brushing contact and she laughs inwardly at her doctor, so typical of him.

**_…And I would be the one, to hold you down, kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away, and after I, wipe away the tears, just close your eyes dear…._**

"I bet you've forgotten what it feels like to dance, Doctor," she murmurs, pulling away from him. Déjà vu hits her like a wave crashing against the shore and she's sucked back into a small room, the other dancers gone, and she's holding out a hand, mocking him, egging him on just so he'll hold her close. Just another one of her many scenes stretched out across the play she considers her life.

_…Rose, Grace is worried sick, she didn't know where you went, she begged me to come find you, Elle is still up…_

"I said, ENOUGH!" Rose screams at him, causing a few people to look their way.

"You're not allowed, I didn' give you permission," she slowly and viciously spits out, pointing her finger at him. Her hair is half in her face but she can still see his hurt, his confusion, and feels like adding to his misery.

"Only HE is allowed to do that," she condescends as she stands up straight and pushes her hair back. She feels his hurt grow, she feels it radiate off him. It grows and coils around him, that angry hurt stare breaks through the fog in her head and she realizes for a split second what she's doing.

"Doctor, wait!" she says, grabbing his hand as he turns around. She pulls on the hand as someone bumps into him dancing and they are close again.

"I'll make you a deal: dance with me," she asks him.

"How is that a deal?" he says, suspiciously calm and she can feel his discomfort as he watches everyone on the dance floor around them fuse together with the music, touching, kissing, sweating and moving.

"One dance," she says, licking her teeth, the mental blurriness that comes with a good song settling in.

**_… We've got a war to fight, Never found our way, Regardless of what they say…_**

"One dance, and then we can leave." She says as he places his large hands on her hips and sways them to the beat of the song. She feels his heartbeats mingling with the words singing through their veins. He just stands there as she glides up and down running her hands through her hair and above her head.

**_... Storm, In the morning light, I feel, No more can I say, Frozen to myself…_**

"If you jus' gonna stand there I don't wanna look at your poutin' face," she snaps. "Whatever ya do, don' enjoy yourself," she adds sarcastically, turning away from him, ready to find a more suitable partner, but before she can get too far he grasps her sides and pulls her in tightly to him, holding her close. She can feel his breath against her neck and the fog lifts again once she realizes the scene she's creating. She's nineteen again, trying to figure out the inner thoughts of a man, an alien that she just doesn't get, and probably never will. She begins to pull away but his hands keep her still against him.

**_…I got nobody on my side, And surely that ain't right…_**

"I thought you wanted a dance, Rose Tyler," he whispers in her ear, dangerously low and she shudders at the anger dripping in his voice.

It's then that she realizes something she never had before. It's something that surprises and scares her at the same time. She's never been in control of these little situations, these little scenes she dares to make every so often and loves so much. It's him. It's always been him.

She feels naïve, a feeling that she hasn't experienced in some time, a feeling she never experienced till him. She feels like a stupid little girl and she's angry as they sway together closely in time with the music. She was always just a distraction. After time, she lost her ability to tell him he was wrong. By getting to close, she doomed herself to be a passenger to his antics, blinded by her feelings, and he was content to pretend. She feels the panic rise as she realizes that she never really knew him, and that for the last ten years she's been pining for a man she doesn't even know. Not a man, an alien, an alien to her and to everyone.

She takes deep breaths and focuses on the lyrics, waiting with trepidation for the song to end, wondering what he's going to do. But just as it always does, the tequila and the music get the better of her and she's moving in time with his body. Her hips sway back and forth, low and sweeping, as both hands rest on the tops of his thighs, and his hand is loosely wrapped around her mid-drift.

**_…Oh, can't anybody see, We've got a war to fight…_**

She can't see him dance, and doesn't feel him dip low with her. Although it is the music that is guiding her, she doesn't see him letting it control him, and even if it did, she doesn't see him as the dipping kind. Her arms come up and lift her hair off her neck, the heat getting to her once more, but his hand is still steady at her side, the other she isn't too sure where it is until it comes around and turns her chin towards him. As she does, he slowly moves his arm across the midriff of her shirt, taking her hand in his, and slowly turning her around. She's careful not to look into his eyes, careful to hold onto the last thread of sanity she has left. Biting her lip, she presses her hands against his chest as he holds her in a hug-like stance, slowly moving his body to the hidden beat she had been dancing to.

"You hear it too?" she murmurs against his beating hearts.

**_…How can it feel, this wrong, From this moment, How can it feel, this wrong…_**

"I hear it all," he tells her, his hands on the small of her back as she looks up into his eyes. She's so lost without him and she knows it. She misses him so much and yet he's right here in front of her. He finally came home to her.

"Doctor?" she says, his blue eyes looking into hers, past everything into her core. The music fades out and another song begins to play. He pulls away from her, that very dark and deep expression on his face.

**_…How can it feel, this wrong, From this moment, How can it feel, this wrong…_**

"Come on," he says holding up a small ticket that had been in her back pocket. "Let's go get your jumper," he smiles, taking her hand and pulling her off the dance floor.

* * *

_He's standing there in the middle of the main road, long and dusty, carriages moving past him, but he pays no attention to them. He's looking for her, amongst the women in plain day-gowns and clacking heels. _

"Knock it off, Billy-Jack,." he hears the sheriff warn a drunken cowboy who he's pulled out of the saloon across the street where their carriage waits. Rolling his eyes and sighing he looks on, happy they are off to the train station that will take them to New York. That's where he had left the TARDIS, then they'd be of to London 2006 where she belongs. He searches the pocket in his vest and follows a chain to a watch on the end. It's three minutes after seven, which means that she's late. He winds the watch while he waits for her by the carriage door, eager to leave this godforsaken town.

"I want to see Tombstone, go back to the Wild West, America, cowboys and such," he says, mimicking her voice. "But Rose, I say, Rose, we can't bring the TARDIS, and cowboys are over-rated, believe me.' 'Let's leave it here and take a carriage! Oh please Doctor! Cowboys are fun! It will be fun!'" He sighs, remembering her excitement as she jumped off the train when they had gotten there, her dark blue dress tripping her up for the first few days. How she had squealed happily when he showed her the carriage they'd be taking.

He looks up and there she is, a vision that steals his breath away. She's standing at the end of the street in a white dress with pink roses embroidered all over it, an umbrella in her gloved hand. Barely any make-up mars her angelic features as she smiles lovingly at him and twirls her hip a touch, causing the dress to swish.

"Now sheriff, don't get yer johns in a knot, we were jus…" he hears to the side of him. He's going to miss this time, not this particular spot of hell, but how she looks when she blushes and with her hair up and out of her face. The way she shocks other women by her blunt friendliness, even her small complaints about her inability to breathe, and how she looked last night as he whispered over and over what she meant to him. She closes her umbrella and begins to walk hastily towards him, smiling brilliantly. He returns the smile tenfold as his pace quickens to catch up with hers. She's in his arms when the air rings loudly with the sound of a gun firing. Instinctively he turns her away from the altercation as she stiffens in his arms of fright. He looks over and can see the sheriff pistol whip the drunken oaf who had accidentally pulled the trigger.

"Idiot," he breathes out harshly, his adrenaline rush slowing and he turns back to her, ready to calm her nerves.

But she's not still stiff from the shock of it, something else is wrong. Her porcelain face is paler then usual and her beautiful green-hazel eyes are still wide with fright.

"Rose?" he asks, and he feels her begin to sag in his arms.

"ROSE!" he screams, as he sees the blood trickling out the corner of her lips, her eyes still wide as he places one hand under her chin holding her face steady between blood soaked fingers.

"Somebody get a doctor!" he screams out hysterically.

"Doctor?" she asks weakly.

"Doctor, can't you help miss?" a boy asks from the crowd gathering around them.

"Not without any tools," he spits dangerously, looking up from her face, and into the setting sun. "Now GO!" he yells, his voice scaring even him. It can't end like this, not after everything they've been through, not after last night.

"Rose, you have to hold on," he says firmly, holding her body in his arms, her eyes unfocused, and her face pale white.

"You didn't wanna come here, why did I make us come here?" she asks him weakly.

"Don't say that. Good things happened by coming here, it was a good choice, it will be okay." He sniffles back tears that threaten to run down his face.

"I can't see you," she admits to him, scared, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Sweetheart, listen to my voice, you have to keep your eyes open okay? It just grazed you. You're in shock, but don't be scared because I'm right here. Doctor Mellows is on his way and then we can leave. We can finally get out of here and get back on the TARDIS and go. We'll travel to see your mum and tell her the news, you can watch her beat me senseless, okay?" he begs her, lying to himself and to her, hoping that he can change the outcome of what happened by so strongly believing in that lie as her life drains away from her.

"She won't," Rose weakly smiles.

"Oh yes she will. She'll tell me I stole you away, that we didn't do it proper, that I'm a dirty old man, that I can't have you. Would you like that Rose? Would you like to go see your mum?" he asks her, pushing a loose tendril of hair out of her still unmarred angelic face, his bloody hand leaving a smear across her cheek. She nods her head, her eyes still not focusing on him, and her breath coming in even more irregular intervals.

"Of course you would," he laughs nervously as her head begins to fall into his shoulder.

"She'll just be upset we didn't register. 'All those gifts Rose, you coulda had all them gifts!'" she says, and they both weakly laugh together, her coughing a bit towards the end.

"I'm sorry I'm late," She tells him, and he places his hand on her cheek and neck, holding her head against him, the tableau too much for the town people to watch without crying.

"Nah, only a few minutes, if I've learned to live with anything, it's your tardiness," He tells her.

"What about you, the know-it all?" she asks him.

"Oi! I don't know it all. I didn't know how much loved you."

"Yes you did," she tells him, "The Tardy TARDIS, it sounds like a restaurant," she murmurs against him.

"You know, I'm starting to not feel it," she tells him, her own voice holding surprise and possible hope. He closes his eyes, the tears finally falling out of the corners, trying to fight the reality of the situation.

"Course you can't silly," he tells her squeezing her close and rocking her back and forth. "If you would only listen to me, but I guess that's never going to happen, is it?"

But she doesn't answer.

"Rose?" he asks and pulls his head back to look down at his new bride. Her eyes are vacant and partially closed, her pink lips slack, her life all over his arms and the street.

"NO!" he cries. "No… no…", a broken voice that doesn't sound like his cries out weakly while tears fall freely down his face, as he checks for a pulse and lays her down to do CPR.

He startles awake, shirt soaked, tie loose around his neck with Martha standing over him looking rather concerned.

"Doctor?" she asks, both hands placed on his forearms, trying to contain him to the chair he fell asleep in.

"Rose," he gasps, frantic still from the realistic dream.

"Doctor, it was just a dream," she says, and he closes his eyes and puts his head in his hands. It wasn't a dream though, it was just another alternate ending to a love that never really was. It's getting to a point where he doesn't know what has really happened between him and the real Rose, and what has happened in alternate worlds and dreams, and still he knows that there's something wrong with the information, something tampered or off. He's getting tired of it.

"Martha," he says coldly. If Martha hadn't come, could he have revived her? Would he have died from the agony in his hearts right there? Would he have been stuck there, had to have take her broken body back to her mother? From what he had said and remembered, the TARDIS was too far away, they wouldn't have had enough time, he would have had to leave Rose's body there. He feels sick to his stomach.

"Yes?" she asks, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. She wouldn't have come here unless she really needed him, or absolutely had too. He's made it clear to her that he wanted to be left alone. But still, he has no time to deal with her or anyone right now. He's right angry, and isn't going to calm down till he's good and ready.

"Please, leave me be for a minute." A request he has never once asked as long as he can remember. It's always him desiring company of some kind or another she seems taken back and begins to leave before turning to him and saying, "Romana."

"What about her?" he asks, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but he already knows, and although he wishes to refuse Martha, wishes to tell her to go tell Romana to sod off, to go back to where she came from, to leave him the bloody hell alone, he already knows that if he refuses her, that Martha is not going to know how to deal with her.

"Here, in the console room," she answers.

Sighing, he gets up and follows Martha out, adjusting his tie in the process. "How long?" he asks somewhat tersely as he slips on his jacket.

"A few minutes," Martha replies, before falling back and opening the door to her room, while he storms down the hall towards the main room. He walks in on Romana playing with dials and buttons.

"I like what you've done to her, it's very… she's very… um," he watches as she sighs and smiles, slapping her hands to her sides.

"Why are you here?" he asks her, void of all emotion.

"I already told you, we got a telepathic code ten alert."

"No Romana, why are you in my TARDIS?"

"Oh," she says, not at all startled by the blatant question. "Well, I wanted to get acquainted with the ship I'll be piloting to the source," she states matter-of-factly.

"How dare you," he spits out, voice dangerously low, slowly advancing on her position, but Romana just stands her ground.

"How dare I what?" she asks him, confused by his anger.

"How dare you come in here, after what you told me earlier and think you can get away with what you just said."

She shakes her head sadly, "I told you that the last of our fleet of TARDISes died upon re-entry into this universe, it is my right as a higher ranking officer to commandeer-"

"You can stuff your ranking for all I care," he says, walking around the console angrily, randomly pulling levers and knobs, releasing all frustration into his ship. Romana sighs and watches him, intently waiting for her opportunity.

"Look, do not think that I am not sympathetic for your loss. I too have lost someone I cared for deeply, which makes this situation even harder. And I can forgive your misconduct about me pulling rank. Again it's hypocritical of me, knowing that I have not followed all protocol since becoming President, so there is that. But you have to know that I cannot let a code ten telepathic alert go un-enforced. You must know how dangerous it is."

"Rose is just an innocent girl! She probably had no idea what she was doing when it happened."

"Then that's even worse, it's the most dangerous kind of telepathy of all. With that kind of power she could accidentally hurt, and possibly kill millions of species," Romana shoots back.

"Who are you to police a universe you hardly know?"

"Who are you to talk?"

"You cannot have my TARDIS."

"Your TARDIS? That's amusing since you seem to forget that I know more about you then you think. If you're anything like your counterpart, and you are, believe me, I doubt you really want to challenge me on ownership of this ship-"

"She became mine and mine alone when I became the only one left who could fly her," he interjects.

"She became yours and yours alone when you killed your own race!"

He goes quiet, numbness sweeping over his body, his rage an endless flowing river.

"Don't take it too personally Doctor," she starts patronizingly. "I read some of the Torchwood reports, many written by the captain himself. The agreed conclusion of all documentation is that you had no other choice."

"My Romana would never do this," he says, aggression seeping into every word.

"I doubt she was ever yours," she bites back. "Just as I doubt she would not do what is ethical." They stare at each other for a long moment, dark brown eyes boring a hole in steel blue. "Come now Doctor," she says. "Let us not lie to each other."

"You're one to talk. You have Jack convinced you are here to help, not destroy one of the people he cared more about than himself," he snorts, sitting down, deflated into the worn chair in front of the console.

"Jack is a brave man. A very brave human, although I can sense sometimes you have your doubts. With help he could recover those two years of memories he is missing."

"Is that what you promised him? Did he blindly sell you a life for two years of his own that would be better kept buried?" he asks her, appalled, sitting tensely on the edge of his seat.

"You never told him, did you? Why is that?" she asks him, her voice again devoid of emotion.

"Because it was better left unsaid; less pain and sorrow that way. I assume you didn't tell him that we can see those forgotten memories easily? Or else he would have hated me more when we reunited," he says, his shoulders collapsing back into the cushions of the seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Romana watches him intently and sighs before going and sitting beside him.

"No, I am not a cruel being. I too would never reveal to him the death of his wife and unborn daughter. However, he is immortal now, a quirky trait he picked up after your Rose brought him back by taking in the time vortex, and I have promised to help rid him of it. Still, it's quite obvious the amount of power this girl wields."

"That was when the Time Vortex was still within her; she is completely normal now. You're bringing me back to a companion I told I would never see again, to send her to her doom," he says sternly.

"You act as though everything is black and white, from one extreme to the other when it was you who taught me the difference. For all you know it is not this girl you call Rose at all. Maybe it is. In fact, maybe she has a legitimate reason for sending out a wave length of that magnitude. If that be the case, no arrest will be made."

He laughs bitterly at her, resting his arms against his knees and slouching forward, folding his hands in front of him. He shakes his head and looks away from her confused gaze. "Why do I feel you've been practicing that speech for awhile?"

Legs crossed, she looks at him sadly behind a cool, controlled visage.

"Doctor?" Martha's voice rings out from the hallway. They look up and see her leaning against the wall. He can see her worried and confused look and knows right away what is wrong.

"Romana, Martha is a telepath. You may want to explain to her the rules and guidelines of her talents according to Time Lord law," he says sarcastically.

"No, Doctor, it's not that," Martha says, pushing herself away from the frame.

"I just got the message that came through to Romana," she murmurs weakly, stumbling towards him and falling into his arms.

"Do you see? See now, the damage?" Romana says, an edge of frustration in her voice.

"Shut up!" he yells at her, holding Martha in his arms, blood dripping from her nose.

"She's scared, very scared, like a trapped animal. She doesn't want to lash out, but she will if she has to, and if she does, it won't be very good. So she did the only thing she could think of, she reached out to Gallifrey. She didn't know what else to do. She didn't know what she was doing. Something big is coming… something terrible caused this reaction. How could you not feel it? Feel her pain, her suffering? How could you not feel how scared she was?"

"You must have been blocking very strongly," Romana pipes in.

"Romana, stop-"

"Hmm, let us see, in a universe where you left an ex-companion, someone who knows of Gallifrey is sending out a deadly telepathic wave signaling for help. No, it couldn't possibly be this Rose child."

"Romana, I swear, you need to stop talking right now." he tells her in a very dangerous tone before looking down at Martha. Her nose is already starting to stop bleeding and the pain has eased itself from her face.

"May I take a peek?" he asks the girl still half lying in his arms. She blinks and straightens up slowly.

It's that feeling again, like he's on stage and an old movie projector is projecting images onto him. All the while, he's trying to learn how to control the images, or at least try to figure out what he needs to see out of them. Images of Martha with her brother the last time they went to visit, and the look he received from that very brother. Martha is sliding down a hill on a toboggan as a young child.

"Focus," he whispers, trying to concentrate, so they can go deeper. It feels like a peg that's too big to go into a hole. All color is a little pale, all images a little fuzzy-that is, until it all clicks, then he feels like he's falling head first as an image appears in the distance. It's of Rose, standing amongst the ruins of a charred, burnt out room. It flickers back to a dreary black place outlined in blue shadows and padded walls, the image of her resilient against both backdrops as he keeps falling towards her, she with her eyes closed as the background flickers faster and faster until he jars suddenly, stopping in front of her. All he can hear is the sound of her heartbeat her eyes glow amber.

_They're coming…_

**_We are Rose, just hol-_**

_Not you… them…_

**_Who, Rose?_**

_Hurry… what do I do?_

It's as if his mind is leaking out his ears, he can't scream above the sound of four hearts beating raucously, two he can account for, one other being Rose's and the fourth he does not know. He sees Gallifrey in the reflection of Rose's eyes, and the hearts stop, all skipping a beat, before beating again in unison.

"Thank you." Two words, in two beats by four loud drums.

Then he's speeding backwards out of the room faster then he got there.

"I bring life," he hears her whisper through him as he's forced violently into his own body and falls to his knees. His head feels ripped in two, sweat pours down his brow as he coughs up blood, red and dark. The beating in his chest is frantic like the heart of a bird, but it beats two strong words, two words that he knows but cannot bring himself to say, two small and simple words that describe a cacophony of catastrophic events that forever changed the history of the universe.

"Doctor?" he hears Romana calling out to him.

"Time war," he says hoarsely, before he passes out.

* * *

Rose walks down the aisle, smiling nervously in a pink gown with a sash and black embroidery. For all her cynicism and pessimism ,she just cannot for the life of her think a single cruel thought about Chantelle's big day. She sees Elle standing at the end of the walkway, a smile on her young and beautiful face. Grace is standing behind her, looking so much like her proper birth mother that it brings tears to Rose's eyes.

Her head is killing her from her fancy up-do, her shoes are painful and are way too high for normal pace, but the smile stays on like the $300 make up that Chantelle insisted they all use. She's glad to know nothing will smear or run come even another Glarecox attack or worse, women and their priorities. Once reaching the end of the pews she falls in line opposite Erik and his slightly attractive best-man. She blushes slightly at the best man's sincere smile as he gazes at her. Soon, the music alters, and everyone stands, all eyes turn to the back of the church, to Chantelle. That is, all except for a pair in the second row. A pair so intense that she feels her breath hitch in her throat as her smile falters while trying to concentrate on Chantelle. She tries to focus on little things, the curve of Chantelle's bodice, the shine to her beautiful auburn hair, her sweet and delicate smile, but as Chantelle comes closer, she sees him in her peripheral vision. Eyes blue and unfathomably deep, face calm and guarded as he holds his son in his lap. Their eyes lock and she feels panicked, like all the oxygen in the room is leaving her lungs, until she feels a hand on her shoulder and a soft voice asks, "Are you alright?"

It is Grace's concerned tone that stabilizes her.

"Yeah, weddings," Rose whispers, smiling shakily. Grace gently smiles at her then looks out to her husband and shakes her head slightly. Slowly, both women turn back to the priest, who is talking about love -forever, eternal- and Rose closes her eyes.

_They sit in front of the tree, with Elle, almost a year old, in her mother's lap. Pete is standing proud in front of the large monstrosity doting on all three women. It started when Rose awoke from her coma: Pete instantly began to become protective of Rose, and delight in having a family. _

"That's one present for Jacks, now one for my girls!" he says, digging around the bottom of the pile.

"Look at you beaming away like you're Father Christmas," Jackie says, laughing at his obvious excitement.

"Red bicycle when I was twelve," Rose whispers.

Jackie and Pete stare at her blankly and she smiles sadly.

"Sorry, uh… just a bit of déjà vu," Rose tells them, and they nod in silent understanding. Pete hands her a box and she slowly unravels the paper as she realizes she's been using that excuse a lot lately, and she knows it's because she thinks about him about as much as she says it. She thinks of his daft ears and his blue eyes. She thinks of his brilliant smile and his subtle quips as she pulls the snow globe from out of the box. She looks into the depth of the ball, thinking about the safety of the little caricatures within it.

"Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once, everybody lives!"

She feels his eyes still planted directly on her back as she opens her own, and she tingles from the sensation.

"Marriage is like an apple seed growing in the fertile soil that is love. With a little care and guidance it can grow and eventually blossom."

_They sit there in silence on the roof of her mum's flat, staring up at the stars. Once he remembers that Mickey thought she was lost forever, he sheepishly suggested maybe going back and telling him that she wasn't was a good idea. It's the third time now that she's been home with this version of him and she finds it amusing how they've settled into a comfortable routine. After all, last time it was just a quick trip off to the museum and off they were to Rome. She thinks of the picture of her statue taped to her mum's cupboards and all the events that have transpired over the last few days. _

"You're not still mad I spent six months training with Michelangelo are you?" He asks her, breaking his unusually long silence.

"Oi! First it was 'a few months, only a few Rose.' Now yer tellin' me it was six?"

He smiles slowly, not even apologetic and something about it breaks her, causing her to reflect the same slow and tender grin.

"Though I suppose I should be thankful it only took you six months instead of six years."

"I'm a fast learner," he tells her.

She watches his mouth move and how no steam escapes him when he talks to her on this extremely cold night. She shakes her head, not surprised; she's always learning new things.

"What?" he asks her, noticing her bemused look.

"Nothin'. It's jus' your breath," she says, impulsively putting her fingers on his mouth. "It doesn't steam in the cold."

His deep dark eyes bore through hers and past an emotional wall she didn't even realize she had built. His lips under her fingers are moist, soft, and cool to the touch, as though she were on fire. It's then that she has an epiphany. The Doctor has changed and so has she, but it's obvious that some things haven't. Her first would never allow her to keep her fingers on his small mouth, but she had seen that look, oh so intense before. She would never have felt brave enough to be welcome to do so, never would have let her breath catch in her throat so obvious in front of him, though she's felt this dizzying flutter before. Her lips are dry but she's careful not to wet them with her tongue-  
she doesn't know what would happen then.

She wants to ask him, the question that has been plaguing her for hours, minutes, plaguing her for seconds; she wants to know if that's how he really sees her. The statue was flawless, ethereal in beauty. If she hadn't known it was herself, she would have believed her to really be the goddess Fortuna. Something goes fuzzy as she gazes intently at him, and she feels as though she may be daydreaming but she doesn't realize it is her dream. She sees him leaning forward and grabbing her head, pulling her towards his lips and pressing her against his chest as he kisses her sweetly and passionately, his hand through her hair, hers through his, and then she's shut out, as though a door slams in her face and she is almost dizzy from how fast it all happened.

She shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog and realizes her hand still lingers on the cool lips of the man in front of her. Blushing, she removes her hand. She feels him grab her wrist, causing her to turn her head back and look at him cautiously. Slowly he slips his fingers through hers and they stare off into the distance.

The reverend's words wake her out of her reverie. "Marriage is a serious commitment for a man and a woman to enter into together. It's rarely seen that way anymore, seen for what it means. Marriage is eternal, it is sacred, it is meant for unconditional love…"

_"Why are you here, mother?" Rose asks as her pumps clack the entire way along the hardwood floors to reach the bar she's set up by the long window in her flat. Later, she will walk up the carpeted staircase to her bathroom where she will take a long bath until her skin goes pruny and she is forced to get out. Then she will climb into her king size bed, alone. _

"I hate tha' you call me that only when yer mad, luv." Jackie says.

"Then don't get me mad by breakin' into my flat," the blonde says as she pours herself a gin, straight. She looks out the window. It's dark now, and when she wakes up to go to work tomorrow it will be dark again. She can't remember the last time she has been out in the sun, when she has just gone outside for the pleasure of being outside.

"Well I had too! I was terrified, you not answerin' me rings, avoiding your dad at work. Jake and Mickey told me ya refused to even talk to 'em, that ya been sendin' 'em memo's through yer secretary. I wouldn't 'ave believed it if yer dad hadn't said you've been doin' the same ta him."

"And why should I talk to any of you!?" she yells, finally blowing up on her mother, startling the woman who stands in her living area. Then, more carefully, she adds, "After that little party, how can I?" as she walks to the kitchen and slams the half full glass down on the counter.

"We were, are… concerned." Jackie tells her.

"So you plan an intervention?"

"It wasn't meant ta-" Jackie starts then stops sighing. "Look, maybe doin' it that way wasn't fair."

"Damn right it wasn't fair; you guys wouldn't let me get a word in edge-wise." Rose informs her.

"But just because it wasn't fair," Jackie states as if she hasn't heard what Rose just said, "doesn't mean we don't care."

"Care," Rose laughs bitterly, sipping her gin, "Now that's a laugh."

"Now your not being fair, Rose," Jackie says "Besides, what kinda example are you setting for your god-daughter?"

"SHE IS MY SISTER!" Rose screams, waving her arms around behind the counter "SHE IS MY SISTER AND YER ME MUM, AND PETE'S NOT MY REAL DAD, OKAY? SHE'S NOT MY GOD-DAUGHTER, NOT MY COUSIN, I'M NOT YOUR NIECE, OR YOUR FRIEND, YOU ARE NOT MY AUNT YOU ARE MY MUM AND I AM ONE OF YOUR DAUGHTERS." Tears fall down her cheeks, and she sniffles them back, looking down at the faux marble countertop. "I can't get how you can go from calling Pete my father, to Elle my God-daughter, and sister, and cousin, back and forth. It's all so confusing. If you really cared about my drinking maybe we should work out some other lies we are covering up."

"It's not jus' the drinking, Rose," Jackie cries, walking closer towards the counter.

"That's what I mean mum! How you refuse to talk about it, the past, an' expect me to forget. So I try, and now I'm a horrible person because I drink here and there."

"It's not the drinkin', Rose, it's how depressed you are!" Jackie fired back, finally saying the unmentionable. They both stand there in silence, Rose behind the kitchen counter, looking out at her mother on the other side.

"I hate that man for what he did to you." Jackie murmurs.

"What did you say?" Rose asks seriously low, looking up from the counter.

"You heard me." Jackie says carefully. "He had you so wrapped up tha' you don't even know up from down these days."

"That **man**," Rose spits out slowly to her mother, "Is the reason for those diamonds around your neck and for Elle's existence and your unbridled happiness, Mother. Without that **man**, you would have been killed by plastic shop dummies, or the Slitheen, or Daleks or even Cybermen! He SAVED this crummy little world and he saved our crummy little world and he did it with no thanks you from anyone!" The last word comes out mostly a sobbed, before she sighs deeply, and regains her composure.

"He saved two universes but for what?" Jackie asks. "He destroyed you."

"No, you did," Rose tells her matter-of-factly, without looking up from the tears that have fallen onto the cold white countertop.

"What?" Jackie asks, startled.

Rose looks up to the older woman, gazing at her, drinking her in. Her hair is done up, piled on the top of her head in some intricate design, something that she never had the time to do, even when she was a hairdresser. She's wearing a light blue cashmere cowl-neck sweater, with beige dress pants. There are diamonds around her throat, but these ones are more showy then usual, and Rose believes that after this little discussion her mother must be going to a benefit or some political dinner, something that Pete and her have been doing a lot lately to boost his standing in the party. There is silence between them, both staring at each other for an eternity before Rose begins again. "I was happy, I was with him, and you sent Pete back after me-"

"Pete saved you! How dare y-"

"You didn't know that, there was no way you could have," she interrupts, worryingly calm. "All you knew was that the Doctor and I would be sucking the Daleks and Cybermen into the void. So you risked Pete's life, and for what? Did you know he appeared right in front of the void?"

"Stop it."

"A few seconds earlier, a few seconds later, a few centimetres left or right would have been useless, or fatal. You already lost me, knew I'd be safe with the Doctor, but you risked him to get me back."

"I said stop it, he saved you!" Jackie says backing away, as Rose slowly advances on her, coming round from behind the counter, walking towards the older woman.

"Yeah, but if he never came you would have never known, you would have assumed I was travellin' still and I would have been dead."

"STOP IT!" Jackie screams as Rose finally reaches her

"...Which would have been better then here."

She hears the slap before she feels its sting in her cheek. She looks up at a helpless Jackie through tear-filled eyes.

"You wonder why we worry," Jackie yells through sobs, "The Rose I used ta know, the Rose he was in love with, she never would have rather been dead then alive, the Rose he loved, was full of life!"

"Now you stop it!" Rose says through hiccupping sobs, but it was too late, she had pushed Jackie to the brink, tears streamed down a still flawlessly made-up face.

"I actually thought Mickey's suggestion of a hypnotherapist was a bit over the top, that if I just talked to ya you would come around. But apparently I was wrong. You are the most selfish and yet giving girl I've ever met, and when you're ready to admit you have a problem give me a call."

Picking up her coat, Jackie storms out of the flat slamming the front door behind her as Rose slides down to the floor, crying as she brings her had to cover her mouth. That's when she sees it, really noticing it for the first time. The snow globe that her father bought her two Christmas' ago, sitting on one of her end tables, collecting dust. She grabs it, shaking it to see the little people look on in wonder as the snow comes softly and slowly tumbling downwards, as though time moves on slower for them, more peaceful. She feels the envy build within her heart as she slams the globe to the floor, pieces scattering everywhere.

"Rose, it's time to sign the register," Grace whispers to her, once again touching her shoulder lightly to get Rose's attention. Silent tears fall down her cheeks as she smiles as brightly as she can. Chantelle and her make eye contact, both teary eyed as they move to the table where the paper lies. She slowly signs where she is told not even reading the words, for a split second she wonders if this was all an elaborate ploy to get her to sign her life away and she has to bite her lip not to laugh hysterically.

Shakily she signs the paper, her vision blurry. Once finished she goes back to her place in the line and her sister squeezes her hand comfortingly. Smiling down on her she squeezes back and looks up and sees Erik's best man smiling at her again. It's sweet and gentle, like he finds her amusing but not in a cruel way, and she blushes as she wipes the tears from her eyes and looks away from him. She refuses to look at William, refuses to continue this trip down memory lane, so she focuses on the floor. She hears the priest's last words ring out, and slowly Erik and Chantelle begin to walk up the aisle.

She finally looks up to find the best man offering his arm to her, a gesture she forgot was mandatory for them to walk out of the church. Remembering, she laughs and shakes her head placing her arm in his and walking up the aisle as Grace takes the other usher's arm and behind them.

* * *

_Two beats… _

Two words-

Time war…

Time war…

Save us-

Time war…

My Doctor…

He wakes from a dreamless sleep, something he hasn't had in a very long time. As he opens his head to darkness, it feels as though someone dropped an axe on it several times, causing searing pains in several strips along his brain. His stomach lurches but there's nothing to rid itself of, so instead he lies there, ever so still, trying to relax the muscles in his body.

It's then he feels a cool cloth against his head, wiping sweat and perhaps vomit away, but he cannot see who is caring for him.

"Relax, the blindness is temporary," Romana tells him. "Just a side affect of the initial message."

Again, a cool cloth at the corner of his mouth, soft hands stroking wet hair out of his face, cool against the burn in his cheeks. "It should only last a few more hours, then we can start planning for our journey."

He wants to get up, to fight off her kindness, but he's too weak, and resorts to accepting her calming efforts and reassuring words.

"Imagine Doctor, imagine what you feel happening to every man, woman and child of a species. Pandemonium occurs, revolts, rebellion, rioting. Not only an entire world, but galaxies, universes-of course those closer to the blast will always be affected more. By the time the message reached us it was diluted. Most people felt weary, like they had the human's common influenza. But you see first hand the damage."

"Time war," he rasps, two words sticking out in his mind more than the picture of Rose's sad ethereal face.

"Yes, you said that. If that be the case, then I can surely grant pardon to the girl on site and there will be no need to bring her back to Gallifrey for a hearing. Something I presume that would make you very happy."

He gasps for air, as he tries to get up. "She's terrified, she's all alone with no one there, but there's something else. She has immense power, god-like even," he says, then laughs bitterly. "A god-like girl and all she wants is me." And he begins to cough.

"Shh, I'm sure she'll be alright till we get there, until then you need rest." Romana says, entwining her own fingers through his.

"She kept reaching out for me, and I couldn't hold her, couldn't get through to her, tell her we will make it better. She needs me."

"Is it possible for you to stop talking about her for more then three minutes? I feel sorry for your new companion," Romana says bitingly, wrenching her hand away.

There is silence, and he feels awkward, wondering what is wrong with the woman he knows so well yet barely knows at all. He may be an alien, but he's still a male and knows that many traits travel from species to species. He knows he's offended her but he has no idea why.

"What's wrong, why don't you like talking about Rose so much?" he blatantly asks her, reaching out for her hand.

"I just… I do not understand your fascination with her; a child, a human child who before now you had no idea had any special or interesting qualities."

"That's not true, you've never met her," he interjects.

"I never understood your fascination with humans," she says, finally taking his hand in hers, and it's gentle, caring even, and he feels her warmth through her skin sink into his. He feels something he knows he shouldn't, something she's been hiding.

"You never did say… how you and the Doctor knew each other from your universe, or even where he is," he says, prodding at the tender spot of her heart, opening her up like a flower.

"He… We were, when I said I didn't follow all protocol." She stutters, her finger tracing patterns on his palm before she sighs and there is a long silence between them. It's when he gives up to the idea of her letting him in that she begins again. "In our universe the looms broke down, after years of trying to perfect a species and trying to repress emotion from our day-to-day living, we were forced to come to terms with what we were. We are children of Gallifrey, and we could be peaceful and dull to a fault, but when the threat of no procreation wavered over our heads, we relearned how to love, how to make love, and how to create the way we were designed to. The curse was only a political play used to gain popularity in creating loom-based offspring. Narrowing down faults along the bloodline, trying to speed up the process of evolving as a species. Rasillion knew his fellow Gallifreyans too well. He knew that they would never question or doubt his word, and that they'd all feel so highly of themselves that they would never even bother trying. It's funny, they always mocked you for being a child born of love, and here they were, creating their own." She says, finally dropping his hand to the bed.

"I loved you. With all my heart. I offered you everything I had and more, and I thought you loved me. But it wasn't enough I have my duties to our people and government and you were, are a selfish bastard who left me."

He feels her anger and frustration towards him and doesn't blame her. It sounds like him to the tee, sounds like something he would do no matter how much he loved her or anyone else. He'll always leave because it's instinctive to him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he says, reaching for her hand, his dark vision becoming blurry, but already starting to improve.

"I truly am, but you need to know, no matter what, he did love you," he says, knowing it to be truth. He had loved Romana once, and even if she had offered the same as this one, he would have done the same to her as well.

"Yes, well, you're not him, are you? You belong to someone else. Though you have to understand not only my resentment but my intrigue," she says rather clinically again.

"I can't explain it to you and I don't have any intention to try too, because to be honest, I can't even explain it to myself some days. But what I do know, what I can clarify, is very simple. She owns a piece of my soul, and I have a piece of hers. Quite literally actually. When she opened the heart of the TARDIS, I had to remove the time vortex from her, and in the midst of everything and nothing, all of time and all of space, pieces became jumbled up and we lost a tiny piece of ourselves to each other. I never told her, I didn't want her to read too much into it, think it meant anything."

"But it does," Romana says, her face becoming more and more clear.

"It does," he says, shaking the fog from his brain and the room comes into focus. He sees her sitting on the edge of the bed, her cheeks stained with tears, but no longer crying, her smiling small and sincere, but not too predominant, her hand in his.

"Come on," she says, standing up and smoothing down her skirt. "Let's go and save your, well… whatever you want to call her."

"Rose," he says, and stands up beside her, taking her hand in his and pulling her out the door and down the hallway.


	11. Chapter Ten

"_William if I'm going to have to take care of Peter… I'm going to have to know how to keep him healthy," she says, as they stand there in her new office in the new Torchwood building._

"_Time Lords rarely have health problems Rose, no need to worry."_

"_Look. You're going to have to deal with this sooner or later. Ever since you regenerated you've been putting off our lessons. Why is that?"_

_She watches his face contort the way it used to when she irritated him, and already she doesn't appreciate it. "Why does everything have to be on your time? The world revolves around Rose Tyler: Defender of the Earth—"_

"_Don't."_

_He looks at her with knowing eyes and nods his head in understanding. He hadn't meant to hurt her, she knows that, but it didn't stop it from happening._

"_Look you explained his growth rate to me, what to expect, three times as slow for twenty five years, slows right down to ten times for around fifty years, then normalizes out at around 3.75 times—"_

"_Rose, please. Just… stop." _

_And she does, she does because she sees it, sees exactly why he doesn't tell her about it. Sees how it's affecting him._

"_Look, I promise I'll begin again… soon even… just, give me time."_

"_Okay."_

"_And promise me not too talk too much about it with Grace, she's happy right now, I don't know how long that's going to last."_

"_Okay." _

* * *

She watches as the guests twirl and glide across the dance floor, holding each other in close embraces, slowly moving in unison, as she sits leaning back in her chair at the bridal table, her legs crossed in front of her and her shoes off.

"_I thought you wanted a dance, Rose Tyler," he whispers in her ear, dangerously low and she shudders at the anger dripping in his voice. _

She trembles at the thought of his touch, tiny shivers running down her spine as she takes a sip of the champagne as she watches as Elle carries around baby Peter, dancing with him and giggling. Elle's pink dress twirls with every swish she makes, the crinoline peeking out from underneath, as her ginger hair falls over his own brown downy head.

"Hey," she hears behind her. Slowly she turns to see Erik's best man standing there, a bottle of beer in his hand, a lopsided grin on his face. Turning back to watch Elle and Peter, she wonders how things would have turned out if Elle didn't grow up faster than her young partner. Would they have danced together or around each other— the latter being a type of dance she is famous for.

"Westerners have this barbaric ritualistic tradition, where when loud music is playing they make jerking motions with their bodies to express enjoyment," he says with a Scottish accent as he sits down in the chair beside her. She looks at him incredulously, ready to express annoyance at his interruption of her thoughts, but as she looks at him, sitting there, smiling sheepishly, brown eyes waiting for her reaction, and she finds herself smiling back.

"Is that a smile?" There's a hint of deference in his voice, but mostly curiosity.

"No," she replies, looking away from him and blushing as she sips her champagne, a few brown curls brushing against the crystal, her French manicure making it hard to grip it between her delicate fingers.

"Yes it was! It was a definite smile. I didn't think it was possible but I thought anything is worth a try." He grins as he scoots the chair closer to her and leaning forward, trying to engage her attention.

"So that's all I am? A challenge? You think you're charming?" She makes it a challenge, precarious at best, but still evident.

"Charming? No… no I don't dare think I'm charming." He pauses for a moment to sip his beer before he puts it down and leans his handsome face on his hands, staring at her with brown eyes. They hide underneath the almost black hair falling in his face.

She thinks the conversation is over when he starts again, "Maybe charismatic, enigmatic, intelligent…"

"A smart ass…"

"That too," he chuckles, and she finds herself laughing along.

"My name's Christopher," he holds out his hand to shake hers.

"Rose," she responds after hesitantly placing her hand within his.

"I know."

He grips her palm gently, staring at her behind those dark eyes. Eyes that remind her of someone else, someone else whose warmth could set her toes tingling.

"But, I didn't make an ass of myself so that I could bore you details about me," he says. "I did it because I wanted to know if you wanted to dance."

"I don't dance on the first date," she tells him, smiling in a way she hasn't in years, licking her teeth in the process. Both of them laugh, and let their hands break contact, before sipping their respective drinks.

"I didn't realize this was a date," he quietly replies, staring at her intensely.

"Oh yeah, dinner… drinks, a good show." She nods towards the many people laughing and talking on the dance floor in front of them.

"Now I'm intrigued to know what you do on the first date." And it's with that seriousness in his voice that catches her attention fully. She cannot tell whether she finds him immensely annoying, or attractive. Or maybe they go hand in hand for her, and that scares her all the more. She stares fondly out at William who dances with Elle as Grace feeds their son.

"Daughter?" he inquires.

"Sister. cousin… she's, she's my goddaughter."

"That's a confusing mess."

"You're telling me," she mutters.

"But she's yours, yours to take care of," he states, and she looks back at him, the heat from the champagne making her glow.

"How do you know?" The question is not indignant, but it is not necessarily polite.

"You looked at them with utmost love and devotion. Not a lot of sistercousingodparents care that much." He scratches his head and looks out at the group. She smiles and silently laughs, sighing as she sips the drink once more.

"Our parents died a few years back. She was still young," Rose tells him, not even bothering to try and cover it this time. She doesn't feel the need to with them gone. It's irrelevant anyway because it doesn't change the fact he's right. Elle is hers to worship, love and bring up right by their parents. He wasn't wrong when he said as much, but that isn't what's bothering her. What's bothering her is the fact she's indulged that much this far, that she's given him enough information to get close.

"So were you."

His words cause her to look back to him; the traces of sadness she knows still linger in her eyes. She looks away as she's about to tell him that she's thirty-three, figuring he's just been presumptuous and thought she was twenty like everyone else she's met this weekend, but something tells her to take a longer look at him. She has no idea how old he may be, though there are lines around his eyes, lines that she could trace with her fingers as he laughs or smiles at her. He's not assumed anything, and she feels the heat start to rise on the back of her neck at the honesty of his words. She's wondering why she's even speaking to him. She doesn't want to get to know him. She doesn't care. She's only here for Chantelle, then she's on the plane back to the mother country in a few days and she'll never speak to this stranger named Christopher again.

"Where do you work?" he asks, trying to break the silence.

"Why does it matter?"

She doesn't want to get close, she doesn't understand how this is happening. All she knows right now is that she should get up, get up and walk away from him. It's the only way to end whatever is taking place.

"Another quirky tradition over here. Any silence is bad silence, which is why most of them are thought of as loud and obnoxious breed. Really it's just they're terrified of the tranquility, so they feel the need to speak at all times, even if it's over mundane things."

"I work for the government back home. I have a Doctorate in Communications, I know some physics but I was always bullocks at the math," she says, the glow of the champagne loosening her reigns enough to make her seem lethargic and friendly.

"I didn't know you could get a Doctorate in Communications."

"I can," she tells him. "Though I get told I'm not a real Doctor, not a proper Doctor a lot."

"What are real doctors?"

"I suppose ones trained in the field of medicine. I never really pay attention," she answers, giggling.

They both chuckle for a moment before she adds, "You speak as though you're a separate entity from them."

"I guess I do still consider myself one. Though I know I have a tendency to prove I'm not. My habits are atrocious now."

"And your manners," she adds, as he pours her more champagne then turning to face her.

"That's the Scottish in me, bad manners and awkward habits. I'm quite the catch."

"British— uptight and bad teeth. Nice to meet you." She holds her hand out once more with feeling. He takes it and shakes it dramatically.

"Nice to meet you." They laugh together as she lets him shake her hand. "But I don't think you have bad teeth."

"Oh you don't, do you?" she asks him, still giggling a little.

"No, I think you have a beautiful smile," he remarks, holding on to her hand, tracing patterns on the back of it with his thumb, and she doesn't feel the urge to pull it away.

"So I guess that just makes me uptight."

"You're different though," he states, never looking up from the hand in his own. "Something happened to make you that way."

She laughs, "Who are you?"

"I'm a Doctor," he replies, and she feels her skin freeze and her blood run cold. Slowly, she pulls her hand away and turns back to watch for Elle.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you…"

"I'm not a big fan of Doctors," she says gently, sipping the champagne and refusing to look at him.

"That's funny since you are one," he says, trying to keep the mood light. When she doesn't reply and he feels her distance, he continues. "It's okay, I'm not a real one."

"Neither am I, remember? And we are the worst kind." She looks for her purse, getting ready to bolt. He places his hand over it.

"Rose, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I just meant, I'm a psychologist, and I wasn't trying to offend you. To be honest, you intrigue me greatly."

"So what, I'm a project to you now?" she asks him crossly, bending over to place her shoes on and strap them up.

"No! Jesus, what's wrong, where is this coming from?"

"You're an arrogan' prick you know that?" she says furiously. "You assume because you talk to me for ten minutes you know me, and can talk to me like that? You know nothin' about who I am, and what I've been through. You're no one to me, some random guy at a weddin' I'll never meet again, and yet you think you're goin' to figure me out? Understand what makes me tick? People who have lived with me for years still don't get it, so why don't you just bugger off."

Standing, she holds out her hand expectantly, waiting for him to give her purse back. He places it in her hands, but grabs her wrist as she begins to walk away.

"I'm sorry, I really am, for whatever happened to you and whatever I did to remind you of it. I apologize."

Shaking her head, she begins to walk across the dance floor to the bathroom. It's then that William appears in front of her, a concerned look on his face.

"You alright?'

…_Meet me on the other side…._

"Jus' bloody dandy thanks! Now if you'll excuse me." She tries to pull past him, but he grabs her wrist before she can run away from him.

"Wha' is it with men that makes them think they can keep doin' that?" she says more to herself than anyone, pulling her wrist away and rubbing it. It doesn't really hurt, it's just she can still feel the warmth of his fingers there, and she wants it to go away. She doesn't want to talk to him, to see how his clean shaven face and short hair remind her of him. She doesn't want to feel this way anymore, to feel lost. He looks at her confused, a look she's getting rather used to, and one she returns full fold with a look of blatant annoyance.

"What?" she asks him, standing there.

…_Another mirage folds into the haze of time recalled  
And now the floodgates cannot hold…_

"We need to talk," he tells her before holding out his hand, this time as a peace offering. It's obvious he's made this her choice. She could turn around right now and he wouldn't stop her, but apparently it is important enough for him to feel the need to stop her and ask. This is her choice, so why does it already feel like the decision has been made for her?_  
_

…_All my sorrow all my rage  
A tear that falls on every page…_

Sighing, she places her hand in his and lets him lead her out onto the dance floor. As he places his other hand on her hip, she begins to feel small in her own skin, something she's getting tired of feeling._  
_

But he gently pulls her closer and she finds herself resting her head on his tall shoulder, the scent of old leather drifting up her nostrils. It occurs to her that it doesn't make much sense since he's in a crisp black tux. But she's finding not a lot does make sense these days, and so she gives in and relishes the contact.

She tries to listen to the song, hoping it will keep her mind occupied with thoughts other than the scent and feel of him as the glide across the floor.

…_Are you so scared to look within  
The ghosts are crawling on our skin…_

Some how he's managed to make her feel like she's nineteen all over again, even after all these years. She had hoped it had just been the liquor the other night at the bar, but now she knows it's not, and faces the undeniable truth— that she will always be a child compared to him, and that she was always just a distraction, no matter what universe or version of him she's with.

…_We may race and we may run  
We'll not undo what has been done  
Or change the moment when its gone…_

With her Doctor, she wonders what would have happened to them. After a time, she lost her ability to tell him when he was wrong. By getting too close, she doomed herself to be a servant to his antics, blinded by her feelings while he was content to pretend. She had always wanted to be an actress, the leading lady in her little scenes and situations, all grouping together to make her life seem not so dull.

She was never a star, and she never would be. He was the star, and she was the sky, black and boring in comparison. She became his supporting actress, and she had been okay with it. She had made him a character, and he played his part well. She begins to panic as she thinks of all this, realizing that it means that she never really knew him, and that for the last ten years she's been pining for a man she doesn't even know.

Not a man, an alien. An alien to everyone, including herself._  
_

…_I know it would seem outrageous_

_To come off all corageous_

_And offer you my hand  
To pull you up on to dry land_

_When all I got is sinking sand…_

His hand pressed firmly into the small of her back, she tries to focus on anything other than his presence.

"You wanted to talk?" she asks him pointedly.

"Mmm?"

Pulling back she looks him in the eye, waiting for whatever it is he wants to say to her. Is he going to chastise her for the other night? Comment on how she's been obviously avoiding him since she returned to the hotel and locked herself in her room?

…_The trick aint worth the time it buys  
Im sick of hearing my own lies…  
_

"You obviously had something to say to me," she tries again as he turns her around, and stares off into the distance, not really paying attention. Rolling her eyes, she relaxes into their dance, letting him pull her a bit closer, as they twirl and she leans her head against his chest.

"I see you and Christopher were getting' to know each other," he says randomly, breaking into her thoughts.

…_And loves a raven when it flies…_

Pulling back, she screws up her brow and looks up at him, wondering what has caused him to bring up her brief meeting with the intolerable man. But he's not paying attention to her. He has that distant look on his face yet again, staring off at something that has obviously caught his interest. She forces him to spin her so she can see where he's looking and sees the best man dancing with Elle, and every once and awhile catching a glimpse of her dancing with William.

"Yeah, what of it?" she asks him, watching as his ice blue eyes drop down to her hazel brown ones, his ears turning red under her scrutiny.

"I don't know. I don't trust him. I don't think you should talk to him again."

…_Honey now if I'm honest  
I still dont know what love is…_

If she was angry before, she doesn't know how to describe what she feels now. She pulls out of his grasp and stares at him blankly for a minute before she starts swiftly walking to the exit that leads her to a small corridor. She doesn't make it too far down the hallway before he's behind her, trying to turn her around.

"Rose wait, what's wrong?"

Growling, she turns and pushes him right into the wall, startling the Time Lord as he bashes his head and elbows against it.

"What was that for?!" he asks her angrily, pulling away from the wall.

"Why can't you leave me the hell alone? Why do you feel the sudden urge NOW to 'take care' of me?" she yells at him before she continues to walk away from him down the corridor.

"Well maybe if you could take care of yourself!"

Stopping, she turns around to look at him and doesn't move from her spot.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well you seemed like you certainly wanted me to take care of you last night," he says cruelly, crossing his arms across his chest, his suit jacket crumpling in the process.

"So this is what this is all about? Are you kidding me?" she asks him in disbelief, placing a hand on her hip.

"This is abou' the fact that you proved you're vulnerable right now just last night by getting drunk for the first time in years, and I don't want you gettin' hurt."

"Bullshit."

"Pardon me?"

"I said bullshit," she replies as she starts walking towards him slowly, her arms mimicking his own. "Let's stop beating around the bush here. For one god damned minute let's be honest. You have always known I was in love with him, and we have always let it be what it is. I make mistakes, I made one last night, but it's not like I had never made them in the past. So why don't you tell me what's really going on here."

"I already told you, you're vulnerable, I don't want you getting hurt…"

"I'm always fucking vulnerable!" she screams, pushing him. He catches her wrists again in his hands. "What difference does it make now!?"

They struggle for a moment till he has her in a position where she's pressed against him, her arm locked in a way she can't control their movement too much, his hands still tightly holding on. She feels the racing of his two hearts, how he's breathing heavy. The fog clears from her mind as she rips her hands away from his and takes two steps back.

"You're jealous."

"What?" Now it's his turn to sound disbelieving.

"Don't play daft, you heard me, you're jealous. That's all this is…"

"Don't flatter yourself." He laughs callously at her, placing his hands in his pockets, but even after nine hundred years, if that's even how old he is, he's not that good of an actor. His eyes betray the lines of his mouth, the words that flow so freely from it to hurt her.

"I won't. Trust me." She tells him staring at him in a new light. "Who the hell do you think you are, huh? Tellin' me who I can and cannot talk to. Here I am telling him he doesn't know me, when I've been around you for over six years and you still don't get it. Let me clear it up for you, so we don't have any misunderstandings again. You are William Bydysaw. Father, Husband, Human-in-training, whatever you want. But you are _not_ the Doctor. You chose not to be a long time ago. More to the point you are not MY Doctor, and you never were. So why don't you just run back to Grace and the baby and leave me alone, because I don't want to have anything to do with you."

Finished, she turns to walk the rest of the way down the hall and sees Grace standing there at the other end of the corridor, a blank expression on her face.

"Grace… it's… not what you think." She tries to get out, taking a step closer, but Grace isn't looking at her, she's looking behind her at William. Shaking her head, she slowly turns and walks away.

She feels William push her as he tries to pass her to catch up to his wife, but Rose never sees him. Her eyes are too blurry from tears as she slides down the wall.

* * *

"I feel like I'm harvesting organs," Martha says, handing him what can only be described as, a heart-shaped box made of a metal similar to tin. She can see the gears and intricate designs they run.

"That's because you are," the Doctor says grimly, his suit jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He lies on his back underneath the grid flooring near the console. He places the sonic screwdriver in his mouth before Martha hands him the machine part. Once in his hands, she watches as he scoots out of her sight. She waits till she hears the Sonic rays of his screwdriver begin before she begins to talk to him again.

"So, why is Romana giving you parts from her TARDIS to upgrade yours? It just seems… If hers is a newer model, why wouldn't she take the few parts she needs to fix hers, instead of having you practically remove and upgrade everything in yours."

"TARDIS'S are living things Martha." Is all he says before she can hears the screwdriver stop and be replaced into his mouth.

Yeah I know. 

_**Romana may have a new TARDIS, but it still essentially has parts that cannot be replaced once they expire.**_

_So, once the brain, or the heart goes— no matter what you replace she'll never run again. _

_**Same rule applies to all living organisms, time machine or no… once you die you rarely can be resurrected. Harvesting is all that can be done.**_

_That's so depressing. I thought you said that Time Lords have a connection to their TARDIS. _

"They do," he answers from underneath the grid, pulling himself closer to the hole in the floor. He sits up once his head lines up with the opening, and he points to another piece of machinery that's lying on the floor. She hands it to him and watches as he drops down once more.

"Jack's interesting," she says, changing the topic. She can only imagine the loss that a Time Lord feels when their TARDIS dies. She wonders if it's an empty loss or the burning black hole that devours continuously.

"You know, for as long as I've known him, that's the first time anyone has used 'interesting' as an adjective to describe him."

"How do you know him?" She leans against the railing of the console area.

"Traveled for a bit with Rose and me," he replies rather nonchalantly over top of the banging and clinking he's making. "You know this would be much easier if I had an extra hand."

"Well Romana did say she could get one of her men to help you if you wanted."

She crouches down on her feet, like she used to as a small child before wrapping her arms around her knees and rests her face on the top of them. She watches as he scoots slightly out from underneath a shadow so she can see his face.

"What, and let them touch the inner workings of my TARDIS? That will never happen again," he tells her before he moves back into the darkness, away from Martha's line of vision. She observes him intently, looking for something, but what it is yet, she's not too sure. She watches as his body turns on the floor beneath her, so that his feet are facing her now.

"What happened?" she asks, her legs getting tired in that position, and so she seats herself down at the edge of the grid and sits cross-legged, watching as his feet turn back and forth on what seems similar to a concrete floor.

"A whole lot of trouble, is what. They tried to reconfigure—"

"No not with the TARDIS," she says, smiling. "With Jack."

"Many things happened with Jack," he repeats with neutrality that begins to concern her.

"Why did he stop traveling with you?" It's direct and to the point and she hopes he trusts her enough to answer.

"Well, as I said, many things, but if I were to narrow it down to one main point, I guess it would be that he died."

Martha's smile fades from her face as her heart begins to burn with fear of the unknown. She finds it odd that after all she's seen and after all she's been through she still has the ability to be afraid or surprised by his words.

"That would make our present situation awkward," she begins. "Since he was talking to him just a few hours ago."

"It would, wouldn't it?" he responds, and she can hear more banging and clanging coming from below. "The universe is a funny place."

She watches as his feet stop moving back and forth before he speaks again. "Although, knowing now what I know, I guess I would have to make that plural… but universes just don't sound right… universes… Universes are funny places… no, not the same effect."

There's quiet between them for a few moments before she hears, "Martha, do you ever know that you should know something but it's just out of your mind's peripheral vision?"

"Yeah, I have that problem with tests—"

"Which is part of the reason why I ended up taking you, yes, I know… but I'm thinking more like, fate of the world. It's not that I keep freezing up, it's more like someone's tampering with my brain."

"That doesn't sound particularly pleasant," she says, before thinking about it and adding, "Nor does it sound safe. Do you think we will be okay?"

"We'll be fine, I'm sure of it. Because what ever is happening, whatever is causing it, I think it is looking for me, and it's keeping me alive when under the circumstances we've been through; Daleks, monsters, cities in turmoil, your brother—"

"Now now, " she interrupts, but she doesn't continue, doesn't mention that just because something wants to keep him alive that doesn't mean she'll be fine.

"I thought you said you can't bring something back that is dead," she states, and she knows it sounds so narrow, so black and white, and coming from her she knows it sounds very naïve. She is training for her doctorate in medicine, after all.

"I said it's rare, but apparently, it is a possibility. Jack is a product of that."

He turns underneath the panels so that he faces her once more, pulls himself up and out from underneath the grid. She moves aside and allows him to do it himself, but grabs his jacket off the railing and holds it out to him. He's breathing heavily, perspiring a touch with what looks like engine grease smeared on his face and hands. He looks at her and the coat while wiping his hands on his pants and rolling down his sleeves.

"I still don't understand," she tells him when he does finally take the jacket from her hands. She watches as he puts it on, crumpled and dirty, but it's the only thing she can imagine him wearing.

"What's there to understand?"

"Well, the man adores you. It's plain to see on his face. I don't see how his dying then coming back could have affected his decision—"

"Well it wasn't his decision."

They stand there in silence, while he finishes buttoning up before he places his hands in his pockets. When he does finally look at her, she stands there with her arms crossed, shivering at how cold it seems all of the sudden, and is surprised as he turns to walk away.

"So what, after bringing him back you just took a quick jaunt to ye old England and dumped him here?"

"No," he answers, as he pulls his specs out of his pocket and begins reading configuration data on the display. She sighs in relief and uncrosses her arms, walking slowly towards him.

"I left him on an abandoned space station, in the distant future."

She feels the tears before they even begin to fall. It strikes her hard that the apathy in his words could run so deep, that he has the ability to change and alter peoples' lives, and sometimes not for the better. She feels her heart leap into her throat at the thought of being left behind—Jack, Rose; who else?

When he does look up at her, she can see his surprise at her sudden emotional epiphany.

"How? Why… would you?" She can barely form her lips around the words, and in all honesty she doesn't want to hear the answer, doesn't want to know that the image she held of him could be tarnished not by any one else, but by his own actions. When he looks up at her, she sees it in his eyes, the distance behind them.

"He was… I didn't…" he starts, then he lets his head drop, and she wonders if it's in shame, if he feels any remorse for the damage he has caused others. She wonders until he lifts his eyes to hers, and then she knows for sure.

She knows the answer is no.

"I could tell you that I didn't know, but that would be a lie. I could tell you that I did it for his own good, and to some extent that would be the truth, because it was. He ended up here, has made a life for himself, and other than his uncanny ability to keep his body pulling encore's, he seems relatively normal. But that would only be half the truth, because in all honesty I didn't think about him much after that."

She lets a little sob go, unable to control the hurt and anger at his brutal honesty.

"He was expendable," she says, and he turns back to the display, continuing to read the data. "He was expendable and you never gave it another thought."

"I was dying and I had no idea what the vortex did to Rose. By the time I figured out he was alive, we were…"

"You could have come back," she cuts in, the tears streaming down. She steps forward to get his attention. He pulls back from the screen and looks down with her with a numb and blank stare. She finds it driving her that much closer to the edge, knowing he's putting up blocks in his mind now, of all times.

"You could have come back for him, and you didn't."

"I don't come back Martha. Not for anyone—"

"You came back for Rose," she says, and she watches his expression grow darker at the mention of her name.

"You told me all about it—You had to ask twice. God damn it, you're going back for her now!" she says, waving her arm towards the console. There is silence between them, an earth shattering silence that grows and ebbs on the brink of insanity.

"You're just being petty."

"Bloody right's I am!" she interjects. "How could anyone not be? Everyone of them Doctor, everyone of them." Her voice reaches a higher pitch. "I don't doubt for one second they all waited for you."

She stops then, hiccupping a breath inward, before taking a few deep breaths to calm her shaking body. Slowly, she lifts her tear stained face to his gaze.

"So does that make me expendable too?"

She waits for his answer, but instead of making an effort to reply, he looks away.

All that can be heard above the TARDIS's natural cry is the sound of Martha's footsteps retreating over top of muffled sobs.

* * *

She hears the muffled sound of their voices from down the hall before she reaches the door.

"… You… don't think I haven't… I don't blame her William…" Is all she can hear of their dialogue as she presses her ear against the outside of the door, careful to keep out of the light streaming from underneath the doorway.

"…you think you heard or saw, nothing is further from the truth…" William says from the other side of the door, as she licks her lips and presses closer to the voices.

"Well I have to agree with Rose on this one and say that's bullshit," Grace throws back. Hurried movement causes the light to move along the doorframe.

"How so?"

"You don't think I heard what she said? Why do you feel the need to hide what I saw? God damn it William, this is so typical of you. You think that because you know you're smarter than I am, you think you can trick me into believing I'm stupid!" she snaps, all words loud and clear enough for Rose to catch.

"Rose loves you. She loves you just as much as I do. She's never ever been malicious, never tried to interfere; she's never been a threat. Not even when I first met her, I never saw it as a problem William. I never once felt vulnerable with her there, because I knew even in the beginning days that even if I couldn't trust her I could trust you."

"Where is this coming from? You love Rose."

"Now I do, yes! But don't pretend you don't know the amount of stress you put us both under by trying to force us to get along, as one big happy family. If anything, the only reason why we bonded is because both understood how each other was feeling. It was easier before for her because the concept of the great and powerful Doctor was just an illusion. She didn't know you, but she knew of you, her own concepts… I kept thinking of it like you had a brother and she were my sister-in-law. How stupid of me."

"Grace… I still don't know…"

"YOU CHANGED WILLIAM! You warned me it was possible it could happen, you prepared me for it, why can't you accept it yourself?!"

There is silence. The shadows stay still, and Rose bites her lip as she breathes deeply through her nose, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"You told me, before you regenerated, there was a possibility… that feelings could change, that things could alter. Not just face or body or personality— you made sure that I was okay with that. You always told me that if I lost those feelings, you wouldn't hold it against me. Why is it so hard for you to realize that the same thing could happen to you?"

"I never have stopped loving you…" She hears him interject, low and full of anger.

"No, maybe you haven't. But you did start loving her."

"You and the baby are my life! You think I'm going to let that go for someone who has more baggage than a plane terminal?! The woman is nutters Grace. She can't let go and she never will— she doesn't want to! Even if I did have any feelings other than sympathy for her, don't you think I'm rational enough to know that I'd be making the biggest mistake of my life?!"

Pulling away, she feels her heart stop and the world around her swim. She knows he is just being mean, she can sense that not all of it was true, but the fact still remains that he said it, and it had enough power to drive her past her breaking point. She lets go of the anger and the hate, the pain and sorrow, letting the feelings flow from her body as she begins her slow trek towards the janitorial closet. She barely notices her blackened cheeks as she passes by mirrors one by one. Three hundred dollar make-over and the mascara still runs. Even the make-up has failed her.

She turns the corner to the small hallway that leads to an even smaller room. The small walk has put her at ease, an ease she has never felt. She feels at peace, as she opens the door and bends down to looks for a bottle of Pine-sol. That would make the most sense, All her previous years as an alcoholic have trained her up for this moment. She is grateful that this small passageway is far away from the ballroom, hidden in the shadows. That means they won't find her until its too late. It never occurs to her that it won't work She believes in it so vehemently that it has to. Digging around, she finds an unlabelled bottle and takes a sniff to see if it smells of pine.

_No-name brand. Perfect, how fitting, _she thinks as she opens the cap.

"Hey!" she hears behind her and drops the cleaner, startled. Turning, she sees Christopher standing at the end of the hall with a curious look on his face, as he walks up to her with his hands in his pocket.

"What… what are you doing?" he says ,surveying the scene, the pine-sol seeping into the carpet; it's quiet leaking betraying her. She looks down at the mess she's made and then back up into his concerned eyes, before she lets out a little 'oh', before she shakes the confusion from her head and starts rubbing her arms. It's then that she sees it click behind the brown orbs, and he reaches out and takes her by the arms.

"What were you doing? Bloody hell Rose, what were you going to do?"

She sees the concern there, the acceptance behind them that she never thought she'd see again, and although it's not him, it's enough.

"I just wanted to feel—"

"By drinking a bottle of cleaner?!"

"Anything, pain, anything, I'm just so tired of feeling numb…" she squeaks out and she feels herself being pulled into his embrace. It's warm within the walls that his arms create around her, and a spark flicks inside of her, an ember starving for more of that warmth, more of that heat, but the embrace isn't enough, the contact not sating the need.

She finds herself turning her face up to his and capturing his lips with her own. He returns the kiss almost instantly, the taste of the barley still lingers from his last beer, but it doesn't stop her. She dives deeper, letting go, pouring into him her coldness and feeding on his warmth. She feels his chest, strong under her hands as she begins to work the buttons on the tux's shirt, her hands nimble and quick, before she tries to loosen his tie. But in that instant he finds a way to push her away.

"We can't do this—"

"Please… I need…" she says, holding him closer by his tie.

"Rose, it's completely unethical. I can't… you're vulnerable—"

"I can't do it. Please… just make the numbness stop. I know. Okay? I know, and it's okay… so please… Christopher please…"

And she feels his lips taking hers again, his hands in her hair, bobby pins flying, but she leaves the shirt and tie alone now, realizing he has a better plan. He takes her by the hip, a sign he's ready to dance, and she lifts her skirts to curtsy as he prepares himself to lead. She gasps as they take their first steps, slow and gentle, moving in harmony to the distant music floating down the darkened foyer. He holds her close, his strong embrace making her feel her feet lift off the floor, as she begins to feel as she's drifting amongst the clouds. She turns her head, so he has room to rest his head against her shoulder, a dance move that she's not use to, but nice enough, nonetheless. As she gets lost in his embrace, she feels no remorse when she sees William find them at the other end of the hall, the look on his face lost.

Her partner is too caught up in the moment, too wrapped up in her to notice the other man's intrusion. He watches her, his eyes cold, his face sullen, but he doesn't fool her, he can't hide the damage of her betrayal, as she rests her head against the shoulder of her partner, never giving him the satisfaction of looking away. She knows she has won, but what the game they were playing was, she'll never know.

It doesn't bother her what she has lost by winning either, as she and Christopher mesh together in time and space. It's there and then, during this dance, with him standing there, with that look on his face, that she proves she feels nothing for him anymore. All she can feel is the music growing and pressing against her, the notes of their music hurried, as they reach a crescendo. She doesn't close her eyes until he walks away, doesn't let the music loose control, the dance reach an end, until then.

After that, all she can smell is pine-sol.


	12. Chapter Eleven

_She walks through the forest, her red hood covering her face, the basket secure at her side. Her objective is to make it to grandma's house safely while making sure that no one gets the important information protected from enemy eyes. She feels her breathing quicken at the thought of danger, her pace speed up as she drives herself deeper into the thick trees._

"Rose…" she can hear him whisper, the one she fears, the only one who could stop her.

"Rose…" he calls again, so soft against the shell of her ear, tendrils of her hair in falling outside of the red cloak.

"The thing about most fairytales Rose… is that they have a beginning, a middle and an end," he tells her, before appearing in the shadows of the trees a few feet ahead of her.

Her steps slow down, as she begins to try and catch her breath. No need to hide it, she knows she's been caught, knows he likes to play with his prey. There is no escape. She stands there, waiting for him, waiting to see his face as he moves out of the darkness.

"But your story Rose, it has no end. It skips like a flat stone against the surface of the still waters of the ocean that this universe resembles. One tiny stone, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and yet you just keep skipping." His brown eyes find hers from beneath the brown wisps of bangs. His trademark trench billows in the wind around him, as though he belonged there with the trees, living amongst them.

Still, she knows that he's out of place here.

The chucks give it away.

"You've changed since the last time I saw you." She tries not to feel the heat rise to her cheeks, or the yearning that she remembers. He's stopping her from her goal, and therefore he is the enemy.

"Mmm… have I? I guess it all depends on your interpretation. Which one of me you are talking about? After all, this is your story…"

She remains silent, stoic against his words. She's waiting. She's forever waiting for him to finish what he's started.

"You certainly have. You used to be Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth. Now look at you. You've gone domestic, playing house with a child that's not even your own. I never thought I'd see the day-"

"I had too!" she interrupts, reacting to his words. "I never once called him my own. He had a mother, and a father! The Ouroboros told me…"

"To what? To give up? Give into life? To chips and beans on toast? To white picket fences and mortgages? I thought they told you to protect him, not try and make him into something he's not."

She's quiet against the onslaught, figuring it's for the best. She'll never escape him. He's come here to collect. He's hunting.

"A big swirly ball looping in over itself in a constant continuous manner- you were always articulate weren't you Rose?" He moves closer to her. Stalks her. Circles.

"What are you here for? If it's Peter…"

"No, it's not the boy. I'm not really here at all. Do you think this is all real Rose? The cape, the basket full of top secret Torchwood information that must get to Granny's before 16:00 hours? I think your brain is starting to go in your old age."

She remains silent, a tear falling down her cheek. She had been so happy on the trail before he appeared. So happy to believe in forests and faeries.

To not veer off the path.

He's ruining it. He's ruining it all with his words, and his clothes and every little detail. He doesn't belong in this world just as she didn't belong in this universe.

Still he circles her.

Still she waits.

"Do you remember the day that Grace gave you Peter? The day you two swapped children? Elle was so brave, so at peace knowing she would never see you again. It was almost like she was relieved."

"Stop it," she says, and he stops the pacing right off to the side of her. He obeys her wish, but leans in to whisper in her ear.

"Mind you, Elle was a young woman by then, twenty years old. You two looked like twins, which is why I guess it made it easier for you to pretend you're her great granddaughter, made it easier to dye that hair of yours auburn, just like hers. But Grace cried and cried, she didn't want to hand over her baby, her son. She always knew, always knew it would have to come to that. After all, fifteen years had passed and he still was the size of a five year old. She always knew she would have to let go. She wouldn't let you touch her, wouldn't let anyone touch her as she cried."

His words send shivers down her spine, as she notices that the trees are becoming dimmer.

She can't see the forest through the trees.

"You must have wondered; wondered if she took care of Elle, if she loved her the way you did, the way she expected you to love Peter. I know that you looked, between the constant moving and pretending, you searched. You kept in contact with Torchwood, until you knew that it was futile. You kept looking till you knew they would have had to have been dead."

"What do you want?"

He stands in front of her, no more than a few inches away.

"I want you to wake up. They are coming, and you have to get ready. You've had your head in the clouds for so long that you've forgotten what you're here for. You forget what he's here for: the boy. What you don't know is that they're hiding something from you, your granny and your mum. You are just confused as too what you are doing. There is no Good and Evil, no truth, only everyone's perceptions, but you are so lost, so lost as to what is really going on."

"What do you want, from me?" she asks him.

"I am just trying to protect you, protector… trying to help you." And he pulls back, walking away from her, a smile still stretched across his face.

"But if you're not the big bad wolf? Then who is?"

"You are."

Rose wakes to the sound of her alarm going off, and she groans as she hits the off button and gets up to make herself a cup of tea. As she walks down the hallway, passing half unpacked boxes until she reaches his room, and she can't help but look in on him, surprised to see him still face down on the mattress, sound asleep. Knowing his alarm will go off in another twenty minutes, she decides to leave him be and let him have those last precious minutes.

As she pulls the rob tighter around herself, she pushes her now auburn hair back out of her face, before making her way to the kettle. She smiles, realizing it was one of the first things that she has unpacked. Even after all these years, she still enjoys her cuppa. Once it's on, she sits herself at the kitchen table and begins to think about her dream.

It's the first time in twenty years she has thought about him, thirty since she's thought particularly about William. She remembers because it was Peter's fiftieth birthday, an equivalent to his tenth.

_"Mum," he asks, and it causes her to still cringe at the sound. It still sometimes surprises her that his emotional maturity level grows at the same pace as his body._

"Peter dear, I told you, you have to call me Rose," she says, kissing his hair as they wait to go see a movie.

"Why isn't Dad coming for my birthday?" he asks, holding her hand firmly as people push each other closer together to try and stay warm in the cold. He looks ten, an age where most let go of hands, but it's not that he isn't autonomous- he just likes to reach for her hand. It reminds her of someone else.

"It's because he's busy sweetheart. He's… your dad had to go away for awhile," she says, trying to remember how she told him the first time. "He had to go to a far away place because he met some people that said they could fix his spaceship."

She watches as the woman in front of her looks back at her with a strange look, then down at Peter before up again. Rose just smiles politely and the woman smiles back in a knowing way, a way that she's learned parents use between each other. It's the smile that says: "Kids, aren't they just precious?" Once the woman looks away, she rolls her eyes and focuses back on Peter.

"He'll be back right?" Peter asks her, no sign of sadness or hope in his voice. He sounds so old. She shakes her head, realizing he's really fifty. It makes her feel so old.

"One day sweetheart, one day."

The tea's placed in front of her, the scent of it waking her out of her reverie. Peter smiles briefly at her and sits across from her. She notices he made her toast, while making his own breakfast. She smiles back fondly at him as he takes a sip of his own tea and bites down on the bread.

"Are you ready for your first day of school?" she asks.

He nods politely, not really looking at her, but focusing on the black art book he's been carrying everywhere for the last six months. She shakes her head at the new hobby, knowing it will only be a matter of time before he masters it as well, just like almost anything else he's ever done. But for now, he still bumbles, still colors outside the lines, is still learning.

"I know you're still mad that we moved here from Japan. I know how much you liked it there, but it was time honey," she says reaching for his hand resting against the table. He stills at the touch, looking at it before looking up at her, his blue eyes vacant , the curly mess he calls hair falling into his eyes.

"I'm not mad," he says quietly, turning his focus back to the book, and she feels a little disappointment that he's reached the age where he shuts her out.

"Well I'm super excited. New country, new job, new school."

"First school," he interjects, continuing to draw, his other hand stuffing food into his mouth. Her smile falters for only a moment before she nods her head.

"It's going to work, I promise. You're old enough now that no one will notice if you don't age the same. You know that's why I couldn't…"

"I know, Rose," he says, and it hurts just that little bit. They've had several lives now, identities given to them by her honorary status by Torchwood. She's been a sister, aunt, cousin, even a god-mother to him, but never mother. She always refused to be, because she isn't. It doesn't stop her from wishing some days.

"We're here to stay until you graduate, then we'll move to Vancouver. It's a bigger city and we can get lost down there for a few more years." She knows that now she's just speaking to reassure herself as she stands up and begins to move away from the table.

"I don't see why I have to go to school," he mumbles, holding his head between his hands. She feels her brows furrow in confusion.

"But I thought you said you wanted too," she says, stopping beside him, looking down at what he's drawing. It's a woman, her hair flying everywhere, floating in the middle of the paper, her dress unique but delicate looking.

"I did, but I realized you were right. It's stupid. I already know it all. It's too much of a danger. anything I could learn there I could learn on my own."

"True, but I thought it was because you wanted to meet people, start socializing."

"I'm not like them," he says, looking up at her with those blue eyes, so much worry and fear behind them, that she finds herself taking his face with both her hands.

"No you're not. You're special, and there is nothin' wrong with that. Peter, this is what you wanted. Well it may not be where you wanted, but it's what you wanted. You wanted to go to school. You want to learn, you want to make friends, and that's all any of them want to do, give or take a few of those options." She beams, and she sees him smile in her hands.

"You may not be completely 100 like them Peter, but none of them are 100 like each other anyways. As long as you are yourself, you'll fit in perfectly."

"Is that something my father taught you?" he asks her. The words are not malicious, which is a first. He hasn't talked about his father in over ten years, the name falling out of their vocabulary like Rose's accent did over time. She finds it odd that the time she dreams of him is the time that Peter mentions the "F" word.

In truth it wasn't his father who taught her that, but her Doctor. He had been the first to make her realize that all she had to do was be herself, and never mind the rest. It had been good advice. She still uses, it even a hundred years later. But that would be too complicated to explain in the moment, so instead she says, "Yes, yes he did."

She kisses his forehead and lets his face go, letting her fingers trail on the paper. The drawing is amateurish, and it makes her happy. It's rare that he's doing something at his age-level, and the drawing looks like something a sixteen-year-old would do, at least in her mind. She doesn't know too many sixteen-year-olds. She spends her days taking care of preschoolers now.

"She's pretty," she tells him and smiles as she tucks a strand of escaping hair back behind her ear.

"She's you," he tells her, grinning up at her hesitantly.

She feels her face break into a wide grin, and can't help humming to herself as she walks down the box-riddled hall to the bathroom so she can start her day.

After all, today is the first day of the rest of their lives. 

* * *

"I thought you said this was safe!" he screams to Romana as the TARDIS jerks and moans, sparks flying everywhere, while he tries to maintain his duties.

"It is safe!" she fires back, using the railing to keep her upright while she tries to pilot the ship. Both move in a frenzy, pushing and pulling gadgets on the console. It's almost enough to make Martha laugh, if she wasn't already too busy trying not to throw up.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you let the other TIME LORDS HELP!" Jack yells to him, over top of the warning bells, and even then she can hear his exasperation.

"That's not the deal. The deal was that Romana could pilot if none of them touched my TARDIS," he roars, shooting a cautionary glance at the two younger male Time Lords who are seated silently beside Martha. She turns to the one left of her, hoping to catch the dark haired alien's eye. He turns back to her, a calm expression on his face. She smiles reassuringly at him only to have him look away, uninterested.

Rolling her eyes at his indifference, she tries closing them at the onslaught of the shaking ship, only to realize it wasn't a good idea. They shoot open, her stomach lurching into her mouth, and she's ready to throw up. It's the Time Lord to the right of her, a blonde, who takes her hand in a reassuring way, that causes the sickness slowly fade away into a bearable queasiness. She smiles at him in thanks, and goes back to watching the three causing this hell.

"You are such a hypocrite. They are at the top of their classes, two tests away from their license, something you never got, and you're questioning their ability to fly?"

"Who still has a functioning TARDIS after flying through the void, huh? That's what I thought…"

Martha stops paying attention when Romana and the Doctor start speaking in a language she doesn't understand. It occurs to her that if the TARDIS can't translate it, it must be an old tongue. That, or she's trying to spare her the grief of listening to them.

She holds onto the Time Lord beside her, holds onto his hand and tries to focus on something to keep her world from spinning out of control. She finds she can't help but watch him, moving about the console, the liveliness of his actions, the spark she hasn't seen in months. Even then, she never saw the excitement he exerts now, his muscles screaming in glee, the twinkle in his eyes, and she knows it's all for Rose.

It's enough to make her vomit.

But before she can, the TARDIS crash lands, causing more sparks to fly everywhere. Her eyes fuzzy from the light, she tries to unbuckle the belts that were installed from Romana's ship, the belts that secured her while they took this crazy journey. Struggling against them, she feels someone else's hands helping her calm and cool, and as her vision clears she can see it's the blonde Time Lord. She smiles in appreciation and lets him unbuckle them before she's up and running to where the Doctor fell.

"You alright?" she asks, kneeling beside his form.

"Just a bit of rough and tumble, no damage done," he says, letting her take his hand and pull her to her feet. Next she goes to check Jack.

As she approaches his still body, she gets gooseflesh at the sight. His neck seems to be crumpled at an angle that she knows is not healthy. A small dripping sound, the sound of blood as it sneaks through the grate causes her to move forward and move fast. She can already tell he's not breathing.

"Got a problem here…" she says her voice on the edge of panic as she begins to check for a pulse.

"No you don't, trust me," the Doctor says, gently helping Romana up. Martha stares in disbelief at his complete disregard before turning back to the recently dead and tearing open his shirt. Part of her heart knows that this is futile, useless even. As a doctor, she grasps the concept that his neck is broken and if he's not dead, then he'd be severely paralyzed for the rest of his life. But she knew him. He made her lunch. He had shown her the dream recorder. He had been laughing moments ago, a tinkling sound she found more precious than any stone.

"A little help here?" she asks pumping Jack's chest with her hands in repetition. She turns to look back at the Doctor, who has Romana's face within his hands, as he checks her for damage. Slowly he turns to Martha, a sad look on his face, distance between his thoughts and his eyes.

"Trust me, you can stop."

"I'm not going to let him die! It doesn't end like this," she yells, pressing her mouth to Jack's and exhaling into his body. But before she can pull away, his hands come up and wrap around her head, and she feels him kissing her, sending tingling sensations to her toes. She breaks away and moves away from his body.

"Jesus Christ!" she gasps in shock, as she crawls away.

"I just had the most wonderful dream. A beautiful girl was taking off my clothes and then…" He lifts his head to see his shirt undone. "Oh… Nevermind."

He then turns to see Martha half sitting more than a few feet away, and smiles brilliantly. "Sorry sweetheart, I just can't help myself sometimes. You should see men's faces when I do it. They don't know whether to punch me or be happy I'm alive."

"Anyone care to hell me what the hell just happened?!" she asks, annoyed as her adrenaline starts to drain away from her body as Jack begins to sit up, leaving no mess on the floor where the blood should still be.

"Jack can't die, which is why he's joining us on our little journey," the Doctor tells her, his hands dropping from Romana's face, before he bends down to pull Martha up.

"Is that true?" she asks Jack, the Doctor still holding her hand, still keeping her grounded against this new information.

"Scout's honor," he replies, holding three fingers up.

"Like you ever were a scout," she scoffs, turning away from him and towards the others.

"No but I met Lord Baden Powell once. Excellent stamina, lovely wife."

She shakes her head, ignoring Jack and focusing on the man in front of her. He still holds her hand gently, his thumb rubbing the top. She can see the visible distress in his face at the thought of harm befalling her, and it's almost enough to make her forgive him his injustice on the spot.

Almost.

"Uh… you could have told me that Jack was immortal," she whispers.

"Uh… As far as I can recollect I'm pretty sure I did," he whispers back.

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did. I specifically… you know what, never mind. I'll resend the bloody memo." He drops her hand and walks away, and she stares on in disbelief and confusion. At this moment, in this setting she's never seen him so… human. His nerves are wracked, he's pacing back and forth, biting his nails and being all together fidgety. Since his fall from the pedestal just the other day, she has been viewing him through different eyes, with a different perspective. It's with this perspective now that she sees him, sees how fragile and normal he is, Time Lord or otherwise.

And she realizes, even if this is all Rose is to him, a handicap that takes him down that notch and makes him into a more fractured but beautiful soul, that she creates the imperfection that makes him flawed enough that he can relate to others, if she is what separates him from Romana and the rest…

Well then, that's enough. 

* * *

"Ready?" she asks him, her hands tightly gripped around the steering wheel. The school that stands before her is over 200 years old and gorgeous no less, red brick with large expanding windows, and stairs up to the front entrance.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asks him, as they watch teenagers mingle in the courtyard full of dead leaves on lush green grass.

"It's old," he replies in a non-committal tone. She looks past the passenger seat to look up at the looming building.

"It is, but it's not what it appears to be. When your principal gave me the tour, he explained that the buildings up front are heritage sites, and therefore protected by law. They rebuilt the school in 2008 and then again in 2090 so that there's better heating, power and all of that in the back part of the school. See the segway?" she says, pointing to the hallway that leads from the old worn building to a more up-to-date one. The glass gleams in the early morning sun as people move back and forth through it.

He nods politely and sighs before opening the door.

"Hey!" she exclaims, grabbing his arm before he turns to leave. He looks at her, his eyes evasive.

Just like his father.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want too," she tells him, and knows even given the option he would refuse to take it, and he doesn't prove her wrong.

"It'll be okay Rose, don't worry about it." And he gives her a half hearted smile, which she returns tenfold. Grabbing his face, she kisses his cheek, much to his dismay.

"Do you HAVE to do that?" he asks her, pushing her away, but not with full strength, never will full strength.

"Yes, and I will, everyday for the rest of your life. Now get out of my car, or I'll be late for work," she says as his bell rings. He climbs out and looks back at her, leaning down to keep eye contact.

"You will be too, if you don't hurry," she adds, nodding to the multitude of students filing through the doors.

"Have a good day," and she can hear in his voice that he means it. Grinning, she nods and says "You too," while changing out of park to neutral.

He just smiles back and closes the door, before running towards the school. She lets the mask of easy-goingness fall from her face as she sees him run away.

And that's when she feels it, like a piece has finally slid into place in her brain, a puzzle completed, and now a weight against her mind. Fuzzy yes, but present.

She doesn't leave the parking spot until she sees him go in the door. 

* * *

He holds his breath as he takes his first step out of the TARDIS, his foot landing only a twenty to thirty feet away from where it had a little over 2 ½ years earlier. The sea breeze hits his face, causing him to stager back at the weight of it. He checks above instantly for zeppelins and is surprised to see something similar to them decorate the sky. They aren't exact, leading him to wonder if they are in the right universe. The balloons are thinner and seem to move somewhat faster than the last time he's seen them. New dirigible technology? He chuckles at the thought of the poor bugger who works that job and finds himself beaming manically. There's a sense here, a feeling in the air that tells him she's here, and she's waiting.

"Coming out?" he calls back into the ship, watching as Romana walks down the ramp towards him, her heels traded for combat boots and a pair of olive pants, with a white t-shirt and black zip up jumper. He smiles once he sees she's pulled her hair back, something that he can't recall ever seeing her do- well, his Romana do. In fact, she had always seemed a bit of a girly girl to him, and here she was, in what seemed a little more like fatigues than a business outfit.

"You're the President of an entire race, about to walk into a Torchwood that you have no idea if they're going to be welcoming to you, and you choose to wear that?" he asks her, leaning against the steel railing that guards people from the Thames below.

"Well, if they don't take to kindly to President's of an entire race, then it will be a good camouflage, won't it?" she says, smiling at him.

He lets his gaze travel to the insides of his ship as he watches Jack check co-ordinates on his wrist band, the wool of his long coat making it harder to billow against the wind. As he steps out of the way, he can see Martha slowly making her way down the ramp, chatting it up with one of the other Time Lords that had accompanied them on this trip.

She makes eye contact with him and he grins at her. She smiles back at him, and it's then he knows she's forgive him.

Once all of the occupants are outside the TARDIS, he locks her, and turns to everyone standing there in a circle.

"Right then, so what's the plan?" He places his hands in his pockets and looks at Romana.

"Send out any signals that may help other Time Lords detect our presence. Originally I sent out three teams: Alpha, Beta and Theta."

His smile fades a touch at the names, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't let her constant reminder affect him in anyway.

"And we are?"

"Team Theta." She looks at him briefly before blushing and looking away.

"Right, of course we are," he says, looking back out at the sea.

"Well, you go do you're signal… thing…" Jack says, interrupting the awkward moment between the two leading Time Lords. "And we're going to go get a bite to eat." He takes Martha's hand and beams brightly at her.

"You hungry?" he asks, his hair waving in the wind, his smile charming.

"Of course!" she replies, beaming back at him before looking at the Doctor. "Will that be okay?"

He feels one of his hearts sink a little at seeing her hand linked with Jack's, to see her smile at him so brilliantly, but he doesn't let it show.

"Sure, I'm not your keeper," he tells her half heartedly, trying to be light and breezy. But he watches as her face falter for a split second, a sliver of hurt entering her eyes at the response and he wonders then if he can do anything right.

"If it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if I could take a leave of absence as well Madam President," asks the Time Lord who had been talking with Martha earlier.

"Well, I am your keeper, and I don't think I can spare you at the moment. I need someone to set the co-ordinates of the inter-planetary signal, something that wouldn't show up on Torchwood's scope, unless they're there."

"I can do it," the other young Time Lord Pipes up. "Let Fren go, I can take care of it. That is, if you find that suitable Madam President."

She looks at Fren then back to the other one. "Alright Anais, you may stay and deal with the co-ordinates. Fren, you may have your leave."

Fren smiles widely and jogs to where Jack and Martha had stopped to wait for him, the Doctor watching as all three jaunt off merrily while he stays behind with Romana to help.

_Sometimes,_ he thinks, _you have to sit one out._

* * *

"… so at circle time, Francois asks me if he can sit in my lap, and of course I'm not thinking this will be any problem so I said sure, since Nancy was directing the circle this morning. Well, little did I know that Francois has a bit of a bladder problem…" Rose says as she dishes out carrots to go with the mash potatoes and steaks. In doing so, she pauses to breathe and notices that all he's doing is shaping his potatoes, molding them.

"What's the matter sweetheart? Lots of homework?" she asks him, ladling more carrots onto his plate.

"I dunno, I've had a headache for the last couple days, ever since the first day of school. It's right at the front of my head." He drops the fork and places his head in his hands. She places the pot on the table and pulls off her oven mitts.

"Yeah? Let me see." She kneels down and places the back of her hand on his forehead.

"Come on Rose, I think I know a headache from a fever," he tells her.

"Then humor me," she retorts sweetly, holding her hand in place. "I'm a preschool teacher, I work with fifteen bacteria and germ infested rug rats. I know a thing or two about a thing or two."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't pull away from her onslaught of forehead checking and gland testing.

"Well you don't feel warm," she says, stroking the hair out of his face.

"No communicable illnesses. Do you believe me now?" he asks, his tone dull and emotionless. It was almost as if he was a normal teenager.

"Yes I do," she says, getting up from her kneeling position. She neglects to mention that she's had the same headache, the same press against the frontal lobe. Instead, she walks around to her side of the kitchen table and begins to sit down.

But as she sits down, she feels a stirring in her stomach that she hasn't in over fifty years. It's the stirring of a sleeping animal, the waking of the beast she's been so good at hiding. It's almost like she can hear the roaring of a tsunami about to hit her, her body going numb against the oncoming storm. And then all is completely and deafeningly quiet, before all she hears is her own intake of breath as she's thrown to the floor. A strangled noise escapes her throat as she claws her way up the side of the cupboards, trying to pull herself to a sitting position. Time and the Wolf are fighting for possession, fighting for the right to own her. She looks up to see Peter standing above her, a frightened and concerned expression on his face.

"Run," she growls, the scent of his skin making her dizzy, his sweat and fear mingling and exploding in her brain.

"I wont leave you like this," he says, hovering, his hands outstretched to calm her.

"Peter, help me… Don't trick him, but he's so tasty looking! A little help here, what and share? I doubt it… FOR GOD SAKES PETER RUN!" She screams at him, and she watches as he darts out of the kitchen and down the hallway, as she slides further down on the floor.

"Peter and the Wolf, how quaint! Tick Tock, Time's a clock, Rhyme with Time, but Time's a bore, there's always war, war war war… Time… war… time… war… time…"

And then he's back, a bottle of pills in his hands- they shake violently trying to open the cap.

"Rose what do I do? They've expired!"

"Rose is a little busy right now dearie, but if you could just get me a cuppa… Don't talk to him like that, like you're better than him…"

She sees his eyes are tearing up as he shakily finds a way to open the bottle and dump a few of the pills into his hands.

"Peter…" she whispers, finding her voice amongst the others. "Peter, give me the whole thing."

"But it could kill you- there's more than fifty pills in here!" he says, shaking his head.

"I know, it's okay… don't die remember? It will be okay, trust me… maybe I just need to jumpstart the system…" She is panting, her forehead perspiring.

He shakes his head no, not ready to accept the fact he's going to have to kill her to bring her back to normal, but he does it anyway. Tipping the bottle in her mouth, and grabbing a glass of water, she fights off her daemons as he helps her get them down. Slowly, he lays her on the ground and goes to grab a comforter and a pillow. He throws the blanket over her, and lays down beside her, the pillow under his head.

"You don't have to stay Peter, you don't have to stay and watch this," she tells him, as he holds her hand. He's propped her on her side in the recovery position, her arm outstretched with her hand in his.

"I told you, I'm not going to leave you," he says, the tears already fading from his eyes, the resiliency she knows he has coming into effect.

She smiles at him the best she can as she feels the war waging in her body. "Then I want you to go to sleep, and don't worry okay? Because everything will be fine in the morning. Think of it as me going to sleep."

"I love you Rose," Peter whispers, closing his eyes and letting himself drift off. The adrenaline rush he experienced moments before has worn off and he is tired. She knows the headache throbs against his mind.

She watches as his breathing slows, as he drifts off into sleep, her breathing coming in slower and slower intervals, the drugs slowly working their way through her system. But she watches. She watches as her body gets colder and colder, as her mind gets fuzzier and fuzzier, until she closes her eyes for the last time.

That is, until tomorrow.

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? 

* * *

Martha sits across from Jack, with Fren to her right, digging into a plate of eggs and waffles. Jack smiles before biting down on his sausage. Fren stares at his plate.

"What is this?" he asks curiously, the pancakes still untouched, the syrup to his side.

"They're pancakes, haven't you had pancakes yet?" Martha asks, laughing as she shovels piece after piece of egg and toast, waffle and hashbrowns, into her mouth.

"Fren wasn't allowed to partake too much in Earth customs, such as our food. Romana seemed to think that if she allowed them to get too involved they might end up like the Doctor." Jack tells her, never looking up from his meal.

"Is this true?" she asks, looking at Fren, who sits politely.

"She didn't even want us wearing human clothing until she realized we were supposed to seem inconspicuous. That's why she isn't wearing her sash or carrying her rod." Fren replies, picking up the knife and fork at the sides of his plates.

"What did you eat then?" she manages to say before she shoves her dripping waffles into her mouth.

"Mostly proteins and nutrients in bland earth forms. Pastas without sauces, nuts, no meat. Time Lords are vegetarians where I come from," Fren answers, watching and mimicking how Martha pours the syrup on her plate, before he begins to cut into his pancakes and takes his first bite.

Jack and Martha both look up to witness his first taste of human food.

"It's so sugary!" he exclaims, his voice as surprised as his eyes. They snicker as he begins hurriedly shove them into his mouth.

"It's… I've never experienced…"

No one interrupts or acknowledges his obvious approval for the dish. All eat in silence before they see the Doctor and Romana running up to their table.

"We found them. They're at Torchwood." 

* * *

"That's a pretty serious prescription Rose, one that a psychiatrist would prescribe. But it doesn't say on your records at all that you've visited a doctor in that field." Her doctor sits across from her on the little spinning stool.

"I know, and I know it sounds sketchy, but what I'm about to tell you is- well you probably won't believe me."

"Well, I'm open if you are," he says smarmily as he folds his arms over his fat chest.

Slowly, she inhales and exhales, clenching and unclenching her fists on her lap. "I'm an immortal human raising a half-alien/half-human child. I've been alive for over 120 years, so the fact remains that I have to change my records up a lot. That's the reason the pills aren't on them. It's because I haven't needed them in over sixty years."

She watches as his face contorts from confusion to amusement to anger.

"If you're not going to take this seriously, get the hell out of my office," he tells her, pointing to the door.

"I was afraid you were going to say that,' she replies, pulling a device out of her purse that has a similar shape to a gun. Its alien tech she stole from her days at Torchwood, and a very valuable piece at that.

"Listen, all I want you to do is write me out a prescription and then I'll be on my way."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" he asks her, his face shocked and his hands up.

"Yes. I TOLD you that already, that's why I need you to prescribe me the pills," she replies calmly.

He shakes his head, his hands shaking as he pulls the prescription pad from his pocket.

"I'll take the pad when you're finished too. That way we don't have this pesky problem again," she says, as he shakily writes out the prescription. He nods and hands her the pad.

Making sure it's what she needs, she nods her head in agreement and places the pad in her purse.

She then sets the dial on her device as he whimpers on the chair. "Men, you silly beasts, you think that I'm always going to kill you. Women usually figure it out right away but men they always fear it." She points the device at his eyes and pulls the trigger. An instant flash goes off, like a camera.

"See, it's kinda like that movie _Men in Black._ I get info, you get the last few minutes of your memory wiped, and when I come back for my pap in three months we'll be just peachy." 

* * *

"And you are?" The front desk man asks, smiling politely.

"Romana, I already told you," she says, getting frustrated. Calming down, she tries again. "Look, I know you're only doing your job, but this is of a most pressing matter."

The young man looks at them, at their varying styles and ages. He smiles as he looks back to Romana.

"I think you have the wrong building. This is Vitech Center," he tells her firmly.

Romana looks at the Doctor, nods, and they all take a few steps away from the desk to come up with a new plan.

"I didn't foresee this being a problem," she whispers. "Last time it was rather convenient that we landed IN the main area for, not having to get through the lobby."

"What's the back-up plan then?" the Doctor asks her, and she looks at all the faces around the circle-Anais, Fren, Martha and Jack.

"Well there's obviously no reasoning with the receptionist, and I don't want to risk trying to move the TARDIS. I need some time to think," she tells him, unable to look him in the eye, not able to admit she has no plan.

"Madam President, if I may, I think I may have an idea," Fren says, and she looks up hopefully. He smiles, and continues. "It's simple, but I would have to do it."

The Doctor watches as she thinks about it for a few seconds, and then nods curtly, causing them to all turn and watch as Fren walks cautiously up to the receptionist, and comes to stand behind his marble station.

They speak in low tones for a few minutes, before Fren takes the receptionist's hand and places it on his chest. The group watches on as the receptionist pulls his hand back, looking a bit shocked, but still trying to act professional, as he nods and picks up his phone.

The Doctor smiles as Fren walks back to them with purpose, a smile on his face.

"Right, up we go then? I'm sure the others will be waiting."


	13. Chapter Twelve

He sits in one of Torchwood's many private jets as it crosses the Atlantic Ocean, staring out the window. He knows its useless—the fact that it's pitch black outside kills any visibility. And he's irritated with how slowly it's going/how long it's taking. From there, they still have to go across the country to get to where he's looking to for, to get to who he's looking to find. He's flying alone—something he had to fight for, but not without a price. He left his TARDIS key behind, left it with Romana, because even though she may not be his, she still has an integrity about her that speaks to him. So he waits, he waits for day to come, then night; he waits for the moment when he will learn what became of her. He waits, and as he does, he begins to remember.

"_What are you doing?" she asks him, standing at the entrance to the TARDIS._

"_It doesn't make any sense Romana. What they are saying doesn't make any sense," he says as he works his way around the console, his body tense and voice terse. He just spent four hours with other Time Lords and the newest director of Torchwood. They all tell him the same thing over and over, that the year is 2107. _

"_I know," she replies, defeated, and she climbs the ramp to his side. _

"_The signal came from this universe, the signal said 'Time War'. But there's no sign of it, no sign of any clear and present danger. No sign of—"_

"_Rose." She answers for him as she leans against the railing, out of his way. He looks up from the screen, his specs falling down his nose in his fury__. He stares at the woman in front of him, the sad look on her face, the way she holds herself around him; he looks at her and it doesn't move him the way it may have hundreds of years earlier. How long had it taken him to get over her? _

"_A hundred years. It's been almost a hundred years since I left her here." The sound of defeat resonates in his voice as he leans against the console, his arms taunt against the machine as she creaks and moans in sorrow with him. _

"_If she was alive, if she… there's no way. Torchwood has her certificate of death. Her bloody portrait hangs in the Director's office!" he growls before pushing a cup off the console as hard as he can, sending it crashing to the ground._

"_And yet, you're still looking," she says, and he looks up at her, his chest heaving in pain and anger, his eyes burning from stress. She's no longer leaning against the railing, but instead slowly moving closer to him._

"_And yet, I'm still looking. Even if she had children, had decedents that may know anything about her, I need to know what happened. I need to know what became of her. Torchwood's bloody privacy policy can kiss my skinny ar—"_

"_Doctor," Romana interrupts looking back at the screen, and he follows her gaze. There it is, the tiniest of hopes, blinking to life on his screen; he's located her TARDIS key. It's on the other side of the world, give or take a few thousand miles, but it's enough. He turns back to Romana, knowing she sees it in his eyes._

"_Romana, I have to do this." _

_She nods in understanding. "Go. Go and do what you have to do. But when you get back, we are going to have to talk about what this means."_

"_And what exactly does this mean?" he asks her condescendingly._

"_Just because it doesn't seem like the Time War is coming doesn't mean anything. It could hit at any moment. Now that we can't question Rose, we're just going to have to believe her."_

Shaking his head, he looks through the holographic disks in the cabinet. He must admit, the accommodations Torchwood has to offer are comfortable enough. He even has a bed if he wants to sleep, something that he's needed more and more of since this whole thing started. It's then that he sees them, beyond the blockbusters, beyond the entertainment. They are disks of past directors'. It's there, in those dust-covered cases that he finds Rose.

Taking a deep breath, he places the disk into the image projector and presses the play button. She is there, outlined in a shaking blue, the technology brand new at best. Her hair is dark, and her eyes sad, but she doesn't look a day older than when he left her.

"Doctor Rose Tyler, Director of the Torchwood Institute: London branch. January 25th 2013, 15:00 hours. After defeating the Glarecox invaders, it came to the attention of the board that we could never afford to have that kind of devastation again."

So she had dealt with Glarecox, and ancient brutal race that he knew well from the Time War. "We lost more than a quarter of the world's population. Our resources and technology here at Torchwood were set back about ten years— the technology being used to record this message had almost been perfected. But Torchwood wasn't the only one that suffered; all of Earth's technological and scientific advances were set back about fifty years. Upon invasion, the Glarecox reversed our polar extremities. Torchwood had anticipated such a happening… but no one was prepared for it actually occuring."

He watches as she shakes her head a little, her eyes dropping from his face. He's so sure she was his, so sure that she has suffered without him. He isn't completely in the dark; he read how she lost her parents only six years after being stranded here, how she had a little brother or sister to care for. Her life may be top secret in Torchwood records, but there was no way of hiding the tragic deaths of President Peter Tyler and his wife, Jackie. She wakes him out of his thoughts when she lifts her eyes and continues.

"The Glarecox were intelligent invaders, which is why we were confused as to why they were so interested in taking over Earth. But they did it with precision and dedication. Their main goal was to wipe out some of Earth's most powerful leaders. They started with…" She stops, drops her head and sniffs as she wipes one eye. He waits for her to continue and the seconds tick onward, the pause stretching on forever.

"Their first target was President Peter Tyler and his wife, Jacqueline Tyler. I realize Director, that there is a possibility that you probably will notice the connection between my name and theirs, so I'll sate your curiosity now. They were of relation." He watches as she poises herself, shuts away the feelings that must be eating at her heart. He watches as she goes into autopilot, a defense mechanism he knows from experience. It's enough to make his own hearts hurt.

"After England's loss, they waited three weeks before attacking The United States, North Korea, Canada, Iraq, Iran, and many other nations, by assassinating their leaders within days, hours of each other. At first, they created mayhem and chaos by designing the assignations to look like they were terrorist attacks. Geared for war, the United Nations was in a frenzy trying to calm and placate the situation, whilst trying get to the bottom of it. Then they bombed the U.N. After that, it was only a matter of time. They sat back and watched as every nation of the world began to prepare for a war with no allies, no agreements, no rationale. There was mass hysteria, hate crimes went up to a sickeningly high 122, and most nations instated their own version of Martial Law. Locked in the bunkers of Torchwood, we knew that all this devastation could not be the work of humans. We had been getting weird readings on our sonic space projections. By the time we realized what was going on, it was too late."

He doesn't want to hear anymore, doesn't want to listen to the pain in her voice, the lack of passion as she describes the death and destruction of her world. He feels bile rise to his throat as he realizes that he left her here, left her here thinking that she was safe. The world around him starts to spin as his guilt creeps up the back of his neck for all the moments she didn't cross his mind, for all the days that he was happy with Martha, was happy thinking that Rose was 'living a fantastic life.' Was it in those moments that she cried out in pain for loosing her mother? Was it then that she watched as women and children lay dead in the streets? She had had seven years grace before everything she knew was taken away from her. But he can't turn the projection off. Even in the privacy of the jet with no one to judge him he has to follow through. He does it because he owes her that much.

"First they disarmed us, something that even now I am thankful for. All nuclear warheads became inoperable; bombs, cars, tanks and most technologies were dead. We were left with guns and bullets, and chemical warfare. By that time, everyone had realized that there was more to what was happening than just a massive world war. Then they invaded. They showed no mercy— women, children, men young and ol' were slaughtered. People went underground, hid in bunkers, the sewers. We had several strongholds at that time and held as many civilians as we could. The Glarecox were ruthless with their destruction, but only to humans; they set out only to eradicate the human race. It only lasted a week, but it was the longest week the world has ever known. The Glarecox General, their ruling official, found us. I never once made the mistake of thinking we could negotiate, but no one could think of how to get rid of them—except for one person, whom I will refer to in these briefings as W. It was his wish to not be recognized by the Torchwood Institute for the length of his term as Senior Advisor to the Director. W. knew of a way to disarm and rid us of the Glarecox, through the box of…"

"Pandora," the Doctor whispers, along with her. He's surprised that a human would know of the box, would know to use it against the Glarecox.

"To think we had the means to all along, that the entire fable of Pandora's Box was based on their existence. But Fables and Legends always hold some truth; all fairytales come to fruition for a reason."

_Fruition? Rose used words like fruition?_ he thinks to himself, watching as she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, watches the mature woman she grew into, and feels pride swell within him. She went back to school and received a Doctorate, she became the leader of a secret organization, and she went on without him. He feels his pain and guilt ease knowing he didn't leave her behind to wither away, that although she had gone through hell, she survived. Her wounds were deep but they— hopefully— healed.

"The Glarecox were designed as a plague. They had no motive other than killing, and they had set their sights on the human race; they had come for payback. We were the only race that had escaped them by closing the box the first time. In reopening it, it reopened old wounds, for them as well as us. They reminded me of Daleks, except they were easier to take out."

_Which is why they were on the front line for the Daleks, _he thinks.

"Once the box of Pandora was opened, they were vulnerable, they were easier to kill on the streets, and W. took out the Glarecox General. The longer the box was open, the weaker they became, with all their power being sucked back into its safety, or so I was told. I missed the last of the fighting, as I had been wounded in battle."

So she had physical scars as well as emotional. Why would he be surprised by that? After all, she had always been a hands on person. He could remember the countless times she had leaped in head first, damning the consequences to one of their adventures.

"The Pandora's Box has been sealed indefinitely and placed within Torchwood's High Alert Materials Vault. I am the only one with the access codes to the vaults, and the only one capable of opening them. When I'm relieved of my Directorship, I will give over the codes to the new Director to change. If any Director is killed in the line of duty, all vaults, with items within them, will be sealed forever.

End Transmission."

He closes his eyes as her face disappears, her image leaving him feeling empty. Why is he doing this? What good could possibly come from finding the key? What was he trying to accomplish? But he knows the answer, an answer that he is too afraid to admit too. He needs closure, he needs to satisfy his inquisitive nature, he needs to find out more.

He still needs her.

All those times he could have kissed her, possessed her, marked her as his, all those opportunities wasted by cowardice, lost because he couldn't find it in him to be what she needed, what they both needed.

"_Doctor?" she asks, and he looks up from the book he's reading and down to the other end of the sofa where she sits. Her feet are in his lap, and her book is on her own, her blonde hair still in pigtails. He wonders how they got into this position._

"_Yes, Rose?" he replies, while refraining from calling her dear, or sweetheart. It's been relatively easy, in truth, because her name is so beautiful he cherishes it more than any pet name he could imagine, thinking of how a rose blooms and how she does some days underneath his gaze. How her smile makes his hearts speed up, how her warmth gives him gooseflesh, of how he could never get tired of saying it… Rose, Rose, a rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but he thanks his lucky stars that she was so aptly christened._

"_Earlier, before…" she starts while her feet shift in his lap, and he inwardly groans. This is too domestic, he's allowed her in too much, allowed her to think it was okay to lift her feet into his lap while they both share in a good night with a good book. She's a Rose alright, and just like any other plant she's taken root in his hearts, she's grown in time, and if she ever left, if she was ever torn away from him, it would leave him a disaster. _

"_You said you were a dad once." _

_So there it is then— she finally found it within herself to ask. He had hoped that she would forget it. He hadn't accidentally let it slip no, but it hadn't been his intention for her to dwell on the comment. He finds it curious how women always want more information, always want to learn more, and when a man finally gives them said information, they always find the need to talk about it, to go over it in excruciatingly long detail._

"_Yes, I did," he says, his attention now fully given to her, and he sees her begin to wilt under his gaze, to withdraw and pull back from her line of attack, and he's ashamed to admit he's relieved. Thinking that the conversation is over, he turns back to the book still in his hands._

"_Did you have a daughter or a son?" he hears her ask, and he cringes at the strength of conviction in her words. She no longer fears to ask him personal information. He no longer denies her these requests— where has he gone wrong?_

_He waits a moment, trying to hold out, perhaps pretending that he didn't hear her words, but he can feel her eyes on him, waiting patiently. She isn't angry that he never told her— not happy, but not angry._

"_I had a son," he tells her, glancing up from the pages to look at her briefly, his lips quirking up at the corners the way they do when he wants to distract her, before dropping his head to the book once more. He feels her need to learn more, her desire to ask him; it screams at him in great volumes even in the silence. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of her, knowing that she yearns for knowledge, knowledge that only he can provide. _

Perhaps there is other type of knowledge you could provide her Time Lord _he thinks, before he can stop that particular thought. _

"_I had a granddaughter as well. Her name was Susan," he says, before he even realizes what he's saying. There is a burst of warmth from her, the heat of her satisfaction wrapping him in a dizzying cocoon._

"_Susan, that's a little… human," she says, chuckling as she leans against the cushions of the sofa. His hearts beat faster as thoughts sweep over him, thoughts that he's been trying to so carefully block for so long. He doesn't answer her, doesn't know what to say, or how to say it. He's afraid of looking at her, afraid of letting himself look her way. She doesn't realize how much danger she's in right now, how much danger they both are in, if he does._

_He doesn't do domestic for a reason. _

"_I always wanted to name my daughter from a fairytale. Something like Ella, Belle or Ariel."_

"_Those are Disney names," he comments, still not lifting his gaze from his book. _

"_Oi! Nothin' wrong with Disney names. Disney made most of their princesses strong women," she tells him, turning back to her own novel._

"_Nothing wrong at all except butchering fairytales by adding talking appliances and completely disregarding all original plot," he says, before adding, "What if it's a boy?"_

"_Then it's going to be Pete, for my dad," she replies, and he has finally calmed down enough that he can sneak a peek at her. As he looks at her innocent and beautiful smile, how she's completely at peace lying their on top of him, completely unaware of his desires, he feels the need to distance himself from her even more._

"_And when do you plan on having these children?" he asks her, his stare piercing, his resolve absolute. His question catches her off guard and he watches as she looks up at him, surprised and confused. He sees the hurt in her eyes, the realization that as long as she's with him, little Pete or little Ella will never come to be. She smiles sadly before turning back to the pages of her book._

"_Well, it was only a fairytale anyway," she says, and they both read on in silence._

When he opens his eyes, he noticed that the plane has stopped moving— he's slept his way over the Atlantic. He peels off the red tie that's stuck to his face before getting up from his seat and going to the cockpit to see what is going on.

"Just refueling Doctor, then we'll be on our way."

He nods to the pilots before returning to the back of the plane and flopping down on the bed. He's tired, so tired of not knowing what is or isn't real and what is going on, tired of being perpetually confused, tired of not knowing how long its been since this all started. As he closes his eyes, he drifts into a peaceful rest. Before dreaming, the tinkling sound of a little girls laughter is all he hears.

* * *

"_What's wrong Elle?" she asks her sister as she is folding laundry._

"_I hate this, this stupid unicorn puzzle!" Elle cries, exasperated, slamming her fists down against the coffee table. It makes the puzzle jump and scatter a little._

_Rose sighs, dropping the laundry from her hands on to the sofa behind them and sits down with Elle._

"_Why is it stupid?" _

"_Because none of it makes sense. I keep trying to put it together, but I can only make chunks of it, chunks that don't line up or make a picture." _

_They stare at the chunks together, Rose taking the unsatisfied and tired Elle into her arms as she looks down at the partially completed activity._

"_Elle," she starts. "Puzzles are a lot like stories. The pieces and fragments don't make a lot of sense at first, but once you get two big enough pieces together, they start to make sense." _

"_But this puzzle's missing pieces. It will never be a horsie."_

"_Just because it's missing a few pieces here and there doesn't mean you won't be able to see the unicorn, or… horsie. Just keep building on the two different sides and then when they're ready, put them together. Once you do, the other pieces will begin to fall into place."_

The thing about memories is that the harder you try to retain them, the faster they slip through your fingers, like precious grains of sand, until all that is left is words—words that don't really mean a thing. Things like "Elle's ginger hair was soft," or "Although she didn't look it, her mum could bake the best chocolate chip cookies she has ever had," and "his brown eyes always made her feel warm and safe."

When she used to know what it was to feel warm and safe.

She sits in the playground with her preschoolers and Nancy, her aide, fiddling with the TARDIS key around her throat as she goes over the last few days in her head. It all started with the headache the morning she dropped Peter off at school, the headache that only escalated until she had a full blown attack, an attack on scale with the one she suffered over 90 years ago. It nearly killed her to restart her system, and even then she feels the numbing effects of the medication wearing her resolve down. Soon she will be immune to it, and then what will she do?

She tries not to think about it now, with her kids chasing each other in the playground in front of her. But as the key twirls between her two fingers, she can't help but drift into thoughts and feelings. The Ouroboros told her that she would experience resistance in her body, told her that it would precede the great battle. Soon William would come back for Peter, then the war would commence, and then, if the prophecy rang true, she would no longer have a purpose.

Sighing, she lets the key go and leans into her hands as she sits there, watching. Usually, she'd be right in there, playing with them, laughing and singing, but she can't bring herself to try, can't bring herself to admit defeat against the battle she's waging.

She knows he's coming, knows that the clock is running out, and maybe that was what it was always supposed to do. Maybe William was supposed to come back for his son just before she became a complete basket case. She had no special role in the prophecy. Once she gave Peter back she became an expendable component, just like Grace did.

Poor Grace.

It occurs to her that maybe once the story really begins, her story will finally end.

But then again, maybe not.

* * *

It's a piece of a bowl.

A scrap fragment that to any one else may seem like nothing, but to her, it's enough to set the tears in motion once more. Its times like this that she could really believe in the old proverb "One man's trash, is another man's treasure," if she wasn't too proud.

But who is she trying to kid? She was a tag along, and it's a bowl. It's no longer a symbol of their friendship, no longer a reminder of the adventure they shared that day, and every day after.

It's just a piece of bowl. A piece of bowl that has sentiment attached, one that she can't let go of, so she holds it and cries quietly when she hears a knock on her door.

"Come in," she says, never lifting her eyes from the floor.

"Hey," she hears Jack say gently, quietly standing at the entrance. "Planning on a big trip?"

"Yeah," she snorts. "It's called going home."

Roughly, she begins to stuff the bowl fragment into her bag and gasps when it breaks. Before either of them have time to react, she throws the piece in her hand against the wall, watching as it shatters into more and more pieces.

"I hated the color motif anyways," Jack says, closing the door behind him. She looks up at the man, regret and a bit of gratitude in her eyes. He smiles at her, sitting down beside her and taking her hand in his.

"This isn't good," he sighs, checking the cut to see how bad it is.

"Ah, it's merely a scratch. No harm done."

"I wasn't talking about your hand."

Pulling away, she looks up into his eyes and sees genuine concern there, something she doesn't understand. From the first moment she met Jack, she's found him a bit flash for her tastes, a little flirty, a little charming. She knew a guy like that once; he broke her heart in school. It's not that she doesn't like him, it's that she is wary of opening up to him, letting him in. She's afraid he'll do just what she's trying to get used to. She's afraid he'll move on.

"So why don't you tell me: why seventeenth century china?" Jack prods her gently, placing her bag to the side. She stares out ahead of her, unable to meet his eyes.

"It's a long story," is all she can say, before turning back to the bag.

"That's actually quite interesting, because you see… I have this funny quirk, and it works out that I have A LOT of free time on my hands, so please feel free to tell me every little detail."

She chuckles soundlessly, and looks at him, sitting there beside her, a sly and charming grin on his face. She looks at him, perhaps truly seeing him for the first time, and she finds herself looking past the obvious gorgeousness, the charm, the persona, and sees him.

All she sees is emptiness.

"I may understand better than you think," he adds, the grin slowly fading, melting more into sincerity.

"I don't love him," she starts. "If that's what you think. Well I do, but it's not a romantic 'I'd die without him' kind of love. Not the love he has for Rose."

She looks away, at the cut in her hand, where the blood is already beginning to scab, "I'm not in love with him. But it doesn't mean that I don't feel—"

"Jealous?"

"No, I don't feel that. Unless…"

"Unless you're absolutely terrified that the door may indeed hit you on the ass on your way out," he offers.

Martha sighs, frustrated. "But it's not jealousy, it's envy. And don't tell me they're the same, 'cuz they're not. Jealousy would be that I hated them both and lacked understanding. I understand completely what's happening, and I can't help… at the situation…"

They both sit in silence for a moment. Martha cradles her wounded hand, her legs crossed in front of her.

"I never lied to myself and thought it would last forever. I just thought I'd matter a little more."

And there, she had said it. Said exactly how she felt to a complete stranger. A stranger who knew the feeling better than anyone else she could have told it.

"This is going to be hard for me to say," Jack starts. "And probably more than anything, hard for you to take seriously, because I'm sure you've heard it all before. But I know. I know how you feel, and how you hurt inside, and how although he may not be your lover it doesn't mean he's not your world. When I first met him, met them. I knew from the first moment, there was no way that I was ever going to mean as much to him as she did."

Again, the silence fills the room, and she realizes he wasn't lying when he said that it was going to be hard for her to listen.

"What you have to understand is that just because he's in love with her, it doesn't mean that he doesn't love you," he says, taking her face in his hands, making her look in his eyes.

"It may seem small, or pathetic in comparison, but he does, and he does more than he ever loved me. He does more than he probably loved some of the others. But we all have to be grateful for the little piece we get, because if we aren't, then we missed the whole point, didn't we?"

With that, Jack kisses her forehead before getting up and slowly exiting the room. After a few moments, Martha puts the rest of the bowl back into her backpack.

It may be just a broken bowl, but she's happy with her little piece.

* * *

He walks through the town, mid morning, watching as life goes on around him. It's been a long while, a very long while now, that he's been left to his own devices, and he takes the opportunity to quietly observe. Fallen leaves bluster around him as he takes even strides. The last time he checked, the key was here; he just had to follow his own senses. Romana refused to let him take the TARDIS, but she didn't refuse to let him take the sonic screwdriver, which served more purposes now than it did in their time. Turning on the tracking device, he listens to the sporadic beeping it makes.

North, South, East, or West?

He goes North.

Following his feet to wherever they take him, he feels the autumn wind beat against him as he gets closer and closer to his goal. He strolls till he hits a beach, the lake crashing against the sand as people stroll down the boardwalk, laughing and minding their own business. Following the blipping, he turns west and walks down the beach, watching the waves flow towards him, the breeze hitting his coat, sending it flying. He closes his eyes and feels the sun against his face, how the world smells fresh and new, the sound of children laughing.

Opening his eyes, he follows the sound of it, the chiming of their voices falling in time with the sonic screwdriver, both hurried and loud. Turning the screwdriver off, he crosses the street to the park, and nearly stops dead when he realizes what he sees.

* * *

She's given up and given in to the kids around her as she spins them around playfully, while Nancy pushes two of them on swings. After all these years she finds that spending her time with children is the most rewarding, that they're the only ones who can accept her for what and who she is. She tells them fantastic stories, takes them to far away places, plays and paints all day, and gets paid to do so. She sometimes thinks it probably helped her patience to raise a child that ages slower than normal humans, but she doesn't dwell on it.

"Miss Rose, I'm dizzy!" Sarah, one of her younger students, says as she giggles. Rose places her on her feet and stands up straight, closing her eyes as the sun shines down on her face. She feels it, feels it's warm…

But it's too warm, something's wrong. She feels her key begin to blaze against her skin, warm and tingling, but it doesn't burn her. Instead, she feels her whole body freeze up as the hair on the back of her neck stands on end.

She knows.

She knows once she turns around that she's not going to believe what she sees, and it's almost like the monster in the closet: if you pretend it's not there, it may go away. It's too bad that she was never a cautious child, she may have been able to spare herself. But she just can't help it, can't help sating that curiosity, help solving that mystery. It was there before he ever took her away in the magical blue box; it was a dormant gene, just ready to rebel.

And so she turns.

He watches two young women, one in her early twenties, and the other in her thirties, play and watch ten or so small children. When he catches her profile, his own world doesn't seem to exist. It's as if it's imploded and he finally feels the cracking of his mind. He watches, mouth agape as her auburn hair blows freely behind her, her smile sweet and caring as she spins them around, laughing. He stands there as his world crumbles around him, the sight too beautiful to grasp, too profound to walk away from.

It would be the wise thing to do, he realizes, to just walk away while he still can. To just spare himself the grief, so that he didn't have to fight himself to not just reach out and crush her to him, to push back one of her locks from her eyes and take her into his arms.

It's just as he turns that she looks up and makes eye contact with him, and he realizes that if he thought he knew fear before, he was naïve to what the feeling was. Or maybe this is all completely new. New New York. New New Doctor. New New fear.

She looks about as shocked as he knows he does, which causes him to think crazy and irrational thoughts. She knows him, but how? Unless she was… But that's impossible.

Then again, so was coming back to this place, to Pete's World.

He's paralyzed as he watches her tell the children to wait there for her and be good. Trapped as he watches her stick the hair behind her ear, smiling briefly at him as she approaches. Breathing, a repetitive function that every body has to do to live, becomes the hardest task he's ever accomplished.

He watches her slowly and tentatively approach him, so weary and cautious as a thousand things race through his mind. His heart begins to beat with a liveliness he hasn't known in weeks, months. Is it possible? Could it truly be? This is his Rose?

"William?"


	14. Chapter Thirteen

She doesn't know why she bothers asking. It's just been so long since she's seen him last that it seems to be the most appropriate response to his sudden presence. He's regenerated since the last time she's seen him; blue eyes replace brown, and she feels her own go misty realizing that he's still partial to suits.

Before she realizes what she's doing, she pulls him into her arms and holds him close. She let go of the hate and anger years ago, let go of the pain they caused each other, and finally accepted their relationship for what it was.

"Oh god, it's been so long," she says, squeezing him close, not surprised by his unresponsiveness. She can understand how awkward it must be for him. The last time they saw each other— well they barely saw each other. They were barely on speaking terms for that matter. Therefore, her happiness at his arrival must be confusing.

Pulling back, she grins up at him, politely trying to read his actions. He looks down at her, his eyes vacant and sad.

She knows that he still is lost, still looking for the cure to his misery, and that he still misses Grace.

"Are you okay?" her hands linger on his arms. He looks down at the contact, then back up at her and nods.

"I'm just a bit confused, is all," he starts, a sad smile on his face. "You're Rose, right?"

She looks into his eyes, searching for some sign of recollection. "One minute," she tells him before she walks back over to her co-worker. "I have to go."

Nancy looks past Rose's shoulder at the stranger then back to Rose. "Is it an emergency?"

She nods and Nancy sighs, "It's about Peter isn't it?"

"Aww, see you already know me so well," she replies, hugging the other woman before pulling away and saying goodbye to the children. Some gather around her knees, hugging her before running off to play.

"Goodbye miss Rose!" the voices all cry out at different intervals while she picks up her purse and begins her trek back to where he is waiting.

"You owe me one, Rose Tyler!" Nancy calls to her and it doesn't slip past her that he cringes at the mention of her name. She lets it go. After all, they have nothing to hate each other for anymore.

"Let's go. My apartment is only four blocks away from here." She says takes his hand and pats it gently. It's obvious to her he's recently regenerated, his thoughts muddled and confused, and that's the only reason why she holds his hand all the way home. That's why he cringed at her name and asked her who she is.

After all, it's the only option that would make sense.

* * *

Martha stands near the Thames, right outside of the TARDIS, watching the zeppelins go by. It's only been a day and she already is bored, already itching to leave here, wondering if this is how she'll feel when she goes back to her family and her books, her white coat and her laboratories. Leaning against the railing, she tries to reach out with her mind, to see if he can hear her from so far away. She found thinking about her abilities as having two tin can phones on a string helps her rationalize it. The farther away the other person is, the harder it is to hear them, even if you search along that string. She sends out an invitation and waits, not surprised when she doesn't get a response.

"What are you doing out here?" Jack asks from behind her. "Shouldn't you be out experiencing this place? Charting the uncharted?"

"It's London," Martha replies. "May have dirigibles, and presidents, but its still London. Not much to chart."

He leans against the railing beside her, looking out at the water.

"Could always come back to Torchwood with me. I just popped by to pick up a few things. Romana's running tests and I'm having a tête-à-tête with this world's Torchwood director. Turns out we have more in common than I originally thought. He's got this sweet spot right behind his ear…"

"Not much I can do if I come back with you. Fren and Anais are too busy doing tests, you're busy with the Torchwood director— there's not a lot for me to do."

"Who said you have to do anything? When's the last time you went for a good shop? Or went to lunch, maybe a movie?"

She stays silent, listening to the cars go by and the horns of the boats as the cross each other's paths. But there's something else there, the sound of propellers over head, the constant sound of them swooshing.

How had Rose dealt with it? How do you fit into a place that is so much like home but not? How she must of felt, living there, only small differences, only the tiniest of changes. But they must have been constant reminders, little pin pricks against her skin, her heart. What would have been worse? Those constant reminders, letting her know that it was near impossible for him to come back? Or having it so painfully similar, that for days on end she would feel like he left her there, abandoned her on Earth to go off flying, to leave her behind for someone else.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and she blinks, unaware she had been drifting in the river of her thoughts.

Drifting face down.

The tears fall down her cheeks as Jack turns her into his chest, his hand resting on her neck, the other firmly pressing into her back. She welcomes the contact and hugs him back, not knowing where or why, but knowing that it's sincere.

"What if he finds her?" she asks. "What if by some crazy twist of fate he finds her and brings her back? What then? What am I going to do?" Her tears are absorbed by his heavy wool jacket.

Her only response is the sound of propellers over head.

* * *

He sits there in her kitchen, watching as she prepares sandwiches. She had made the tea first, working her way around the small kitchen while he had a chance to observe her dwellings. It's plain, and somewhat small, but it's nice. She doesn't have much set up, judging by the boxes that are lying in the hallway and living room, a sign that she's still in transition. The silence between them has been long and thick; his sanity hangs on by a mere thread. Rose Tyler, but is she his? How does he ask without damaging the time lines? How does he accept that it's probably not her? After all this searching, all this emotional turmoil, how does he deal with the fact that the signal was possibly never meant for him, but for alternate Doctor?

"Drink your tea, before it gets cold," she says, placing a sandwich in front of him, as she sits down on the other end of the table.

He smiles at her briefly, picking up the cup, and sipping its contents. She's prepared it just the way he likes it, no milk one sugar. It's enough to make his hand shake as he places the cup back on the saucer.

She smiles briefly before biting into her sandwich, then taking a sip of her own tea. Their walk had been brief as she let him into her home. And now he waits, waits for a reason, waits for an explanation, waits for it with little patience left.

"Rose?" he says, angered he has to ask, annoyed that he allowed himself to slip enough into this situation. He should have gotten out before he fell deeper down the rabbit hole. It would have been less painful that way.

"Mmm?" she asks, looking up from her plate, pushing a curly strand of auburn hair out of her face.

He looks into her eyes for a sign, any hint that she's old and wise and possibly his, but all he sees is her readiness, her waiting upon him, and in truth he can't hold the contact long. He needs to keep his distance.

"What are we doing?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. So much sleep and still so tired, he's getting old.

She sighs, placing the sandwich down and chewing. The silence continues, as he waits for a response, any indication that she's going to explain what's going on here, why she brought him back, what they're waiting for.

He watches as she calmly looks up at him, hitting him full force with eyes that terrify him in their intensity. She holds sorrow and rage, depths of unfathomable magnitude in those ever-changing orbs.

"We're waiting. I know that's hard for you. I know you don't really know the meaning of the word, but we wait. We wait till you see Peter, we wait till you start to remember, and from there, we'll figure out what to do."

"Who's Peter?" he asks.

"And that's why we wait," she responds, placing her hand over his. It's neither a warm nor cool contact. Her body's temperature is no different than his.

He nods his head, knowing there's not a lot he can do. It's obvious to him now there was another Doctor for her, this Rose. It's obvious that she thinks he's this William, and he hasn't got it in him to tell her otherwise. When she figures it out, he'll explain the circumstances, take the verbal beating he's sure to get, and bow out gracefully. But this is it, this is the last Rose. He's finished, he'll never look for her or get involved again. He doesn't think his hearts can take it.

So he sits there, and he waits, because he doesn't want to let go, doesn't want to admit to himself that this Rose is not his. He wants to pretend.

For a few hours, he wants to take the slow path.

* * *

"_Everywhere, tall buildings, pyramids— cathedrals, everywhere… waiting, waiting, waiting."_

"_And where is he?"_

"_Waiting."_

"Martha?" a quiet voice asks just outside her door. She had been brushing her hair as she watched the film, her jim-jams on so that she could go to bed right after. She pauses it and sighs, knowing she had almost reached that goal.

"Come in," she responds, turning to see the door creak open. Jack and Fren pop their heads in, taking a peek at what she's up to.

"_An Affair to Remember_!" Jack exclaims, excitedly entering her room and sitting beside her on the bed. He takes the popcorn from her lap and places it on his own.

"Deborah Kerr, Cary Grant. Stunning movie."

"I prefer _Love Story_, but I couldn't find it," she replies. Surprise and suspicion line her voice. "What— what are you doing?"

"Well, Torchwood's gone home for the night, Madame President decided to come back here to run more tests, and Anais is— well, being Anais. We were bored," Fren tells her still standing at her door.

"So you both decided to pick on me?" she asks, stealing her bowl back from Jack's lap.

"Not pick on, enjoy in the delightful company of. Martha, it seems you really have no faith in me some days." Jack responds before adding, "It's like you talk to the Doctor too much."

"What about the other Time Lords, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?"

"I'm sensing some hostility." Jack crunches out between his chewed popcorn.

"They asked me if I was his pet. How would you feel?" she asks as she takes a handful from the bowl.

"The ladies have gone back to their ship to retrieve information gathered over the last few months to give to Madame President," Fren answers.

She sighs and hands Jack back the bowl, scooting over and motioning for Fren to come sit on the bed with her.

"Let me finish the movie before you both decide to drag me out into this godforsaken world."

As she turns to grab her remote, her mind seizes, as images and emotions are burned into it. The pain is unbearable, like she drank something too cold and is having a brain freeze. Only this brain freeze eats away at her limbs, her body, and her soul, devouring her sanity and ability to reason. All she knows is to hold her barriers against its onslaught, as she falls against her bed. She sees Jack's concerned face above her own, inaudible words falling from his lips while Fren holds her head, fingers resting on her temples as she jerks and spasms.

_Martha, can you hear me?_

Fren get out of here! I never gave you— 

_I know but I can help you, do you want that? Do you want me to help you through the pain?_

_**Please, please help me.**_

_You need to relax— stop blocking the images, let them flow through you. Trust me._

_**I can't, I'm afraid**._

_Don't be afraid, I'll be right here to help you through it. I'll never let go of contact._

As she lets go, she feels like water, like a conductive as she visualizes a Dalek, black and challenging. She's never seen one before, but she knows what it is just from the Doctor's brief description. Then there's Rose. Rose glowing. Rose dying. Rose burning up like a star. Weird symbols that seem all too familiar. Aliens that look like snakes chanting. An invasion. She sees it all, sees the consequence, the sacrifice, and the lamb. She knows it is his Rose.

His Rose is alive.

And it's his Rose who's going to die.

* * *

She's old. How old he's not too sure. But he knows old when he sees it. It's in her eyes, the way she holds her body, the resonance in her voice. She's lost her accent.

He can only imagine how old.

He can't ask though; that may give it away. Whoever this Rose is, she's lived beyond her years, and he can't help but admire her, let his heart open up, let himself love her for however long he can. So he sits there, both of them on the couch sipping tea.

"Why Preschool?"

She laughs at the question, and he can hear the echoes of memories past weaved through the dulcet tones.

"Why not?" she replies as she rests her head on her hand, her elbow propped against the arm of the couch.

"Well just seems to me if you're Doctor Rose Tyler of the Torchwood Institute," he says, going out on a limb and using the information he acquired on the plane earlier. "Your qualifications could probably have you in a better position than a two bedroom apartment in a small town in the middle of nowhere."

"Suits me just fine. Besides, dealing with children all day prepared me for dealing with you," she tells him, leaning over to sip her tea.

"Now that's not… that far off," he chuckles.

She beams at him, her smile wide and tender, the light catching her face making her beauty seem ethereal.

"After I faked my death at Torchwood, I needed to keep a low profile. You knew that, so you made sure you had a firm reign on the people in the NIFAL department. There's a Swiss bank that NIFAL deposits new identities in every five years, for field agents. It's a safety deposit box that I have a key to. Being that Elle grew up to be a field agent, and that we looked incredibly alike, I would take her ID's. Then one day, I was left a present. Two full sheets of psychic paper. It's been enough to get us by."

"Us?" he asks.

"Peter and I," she responds. "And don't ask. I'm not going to tell you. You're just going to have to wait."

He pouts a bit at the idea she may have a husband or boyfriend, someone to share her life with. He knows he has no reason to, that he would have wanted her to move on, to live 'a fantastic life'. He knows that he has no right to judge, or be upset, no reason to pout or ignore her. But he can't help himself.

He's jealous.

"I've had a lot of different careers over the years. Before my 'death' I had my Doctorate in communications and psychology, had a good understanding of all the branches of physics. But even then it was hard for me to apply those to jobs that wouldn't get me noticed. So for awhile I took jobs that didn't require a lot of customer-service or public relations. I was a ghostwriter, an electrician— that ended badly—did some telemarketing and some housekeeping, and that's only naming a very select few. After I felt comfortable, a few years ago I went back and took a year long course so I could become a childcare worker, and it's been what I've done ever since."

"Well I hate to break it to you, but being a preschool teacher isn't that low profile of a job. Those kids will remember you forever."

"Yeah, I know, the earth is a very small place. I've had to be careful," she responds, taking another sip of her tea.

"Then why do it?"

"Because I needed too. Their innocence, their intelligence, their brutal honestly— I needed it, I craved it, and quite frankly I missed it. I can be myself, and not feel like I'm being scrutinized. As for them remembering? It's not a big deal anymore anyways."

"Why not?" he asks her curiously.

"Because we never know what's going to happen, and I knew you'd come back."

They sit there in silence as he thinks over what she's just said. She's been waiting for him, all this time. How long has it been for her? If she's been here since her Doctor left her— William, then is she over a century old? But he had been so sure that this was the world that he left his Rose on. Is it possible that his Rose died and a new Rose happened to get deposited on this rock as well? No she talked of Elle, so she has to be the original Torchwood Rose. This divergent universe and Rose is so similar to his that it's easier for him to pretend, easier to believe in the lie he's constructed in hopes of finally finding peace. He can almost find it in her eyes, in the sound of her laugh. He can almost believe.

Almost.

"How'd you know to come back?" she asks.

He decides to go with the truth, after all she had meant for him to hear her call, just this universe's version of him. No she's not as old as him, hasn't had the same amount of time to build the walls to hide her intensity like he does 99 of the time. Give her time, and she'll learn, maybe even teach him something.

"I heard your call," he tells her simply, and he sees her eyes begin to water, the sorrow filling them up like an empty cup. Quickly she looks away, the tears falling freely down her cheeks as she nods.

"Right, of course. That would make sense. Silly me."

He's about to ask her what's wrong, about to pull her in his arms and comfort her, hold her, smell her hair and get drunk off the sound of her voice. He's about to do all these things, free of hesitation and restraint when they both hear keys turning in the door, before it opens and shuts.

He looks back and Rose, ready to question what is going on when he sees a boy no older than sixteen walk through the door, a pack on his back, curly locks falling in his eyes as he drops it to the floor in the hall.

He makes his way to the living room when he stops at the sight of them sitting their.

"What's going on?" the boy asks, never breaking eye contact with the stranger sitting on his couch.

The Doctor looks at Rose in confusion, wondering if this was who she said they were waiting for.

"Peter," Rose starts. "This is your father."

* * *

"Romana, what the hell was that?" Jack asks, marching into the console room, Fren right behind him supporting Martha's weight. Blood drips from her nose, eyes, ears and mouth, but she's alive.

Alive and scared.

"Martha just had a grand mal telepathic seizure, and I'm guessing something triggered it," he tells her, his arms crossed as he stands there beside the Time Lord.

Romana's face is guarded as she reads data, her skin glowing blue from the screen.

"I've been going through Torchwood's records, reading up on past history, this world's past wars and events. They endured a Glarecox invasion."

"No…" Fren says, stopping, still half carrying Martha.

"What are the Glarecox?" she asks weakly, her head resting on Fren's shoulder.

"The Glarecox are a brutal totalitarians. They were designed as a plague to wipe out any humanoid race, although they are one themselves. It was said the great Rassilion captured their source of power, taratagenes…"

"What are taratagenes?" Jack asks, his hands on his hips, looking at Romana, then back to Fren. Martha can see the determination set in his jaw, his concern for the situation in how he holds himself. If she weren't so weak at this moment, she'd consider trying to sneak a peek in his mind. But she can't do it, not after finding out what she knows now. What Fren knows now too.

She's going to have to talk to him about that.

"Fren?" Romana commands, as she continues to sweep round the TARDIS console, punching in numbers and setting co-ordinates.

"Taratagenes are similar to nanogenes, but have more— damaging effects. They were what gave the Glarecox their corporal form. Without them, they were gaseous, and have no power over anything. With the taratagenes they were virtually indestructible. Since their bodies were made up of only gas, the taratagenes creating their hard forms, they couldn't be damaged with most conventional weapons."

"Romana, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?" Jack persists.

"No time, need to find the Doctor, and fast."

"I want to know what the hell is going on," Martha adds weakly, as Fren places her in the Captain's chair and pushes her hair out of her face. She sees concern and worry in his brown eyes, making her feel a little fuzzy inside. Or maybe that's the exhaustion kicking in.

"Rassilion captured their taratagenes and kept them in a secure box, naming it the box of—"

"Pandora?" Jack asks his interest piqued.

"Yes. How did you know?" Fren asks finally looking away from Martha.

"We have one, back on our Earth. I kept it in the vaults, never allowing anyone to open it."

"Well you possibly saved your Earth. Obviously humans here weren't advanced enough to prevent that from happening."

"Bet you ten quid that was a cheap shot at Rose" Jack whispers to Martha, kneeling down beside her, wiping the blood off her ears.

"I'm not taking that bet," Martha murmurs back, the pain slowly starting to ease away from her being.

"Spoil-sport."

"Madame President, Jack wasn't lying when he said that Martha's… episode, that what happened was severe, I was sitting right—"

"Fren, NOT NOW. I have to get to the Doctor."

"I swear to God Romana, you're nothing but a pain in the a—"

"Jack, I rarely partake in petty banter, but for you I'll make an exception. If you don't back off, that small pain is going to turn into a full on gaping wound."

"What's going on?" Anais asks from the hallway.

"We don't know." Jack replies, lifting up from his position beside Martha to pace around the control room.

"You should go back to bed," Fren murmurs to Martha, taking her hands in his own. "You're weak and need rest."

"I can't," Martha responds. "Not if we are going to see him. He needs to know. He needs to know what we know. I have to tell him."

"And what is it we know?" Fren asks her, his voice tight and tender, condescending but understanding. "We know nothing. Not until we find out what that was. It could have been a trap, or residual effects of traveling through several different universes."

Her eyes water, unable to hide the fact he's hurt her by his words. He sighs when she looks away and he has to place his hand on her cheek to get her to look at him again.

"Martha, I'm not trying— all I'm saying is that until we know what's really going on, maybe we should hold back from telling him? Maybe we'll just worry him for nothing, and I know you don't want to do that."

She nods her head in understand and he begins to pick her up from her chair to move her to her bedroom.

"Hold ON!" Romana yells, pulling on levers and chains, turning bobbles and spinning wheels. The TARDIS begins her cry as they begin their travels. Not expecting the sudden jolt, and due to the fact that she can barely move, Martha falls over onto Fren. Violently, they slide down the chair.

"I thought we weren't going to leave until we knew for sure what was going on?" Jack says, his arms crossed as he stands his ground by the railing. Martha watches him from the comfort of Fren's arms, his suspenders hanging around his waist, his shirt still tucked in.

"I know. We have to go. NOW."

* * *

"That's not my father," Peter says calmly, his hands in his pockets, staring at the Doctor blankly.

"I agree. I'm not his father," he affirms, looking back at Rose.

"Don't be daft," she tells him, before walking over to Peter. "Of course he's your father. I know it maybe a little hard for you, but that's your dad. It's just that he's regenerated recently. He may not look like you still remember him, or act like it. He may not even remember some things, but he is the same person at hearts."

"No, it's not that… It's not the regeneration, that's just not my dad," Peter says, his arms crossed moving in front of Rose and pushing her behind him.

The Doctor tries to reach out his mind, to feel around Peter's brain and see who he really is and how he knows so much, but he's blocked out, the walls firmly placed.

"Rose has psychic abilities too. I learned how to block when I was thirty years old," Peter says, his face angry and voice low.

"This man isn't my father Rose, which means, he's been tricking you."

The Doctor looks up at her face, unable to deny himself the pain of watching it contort into confusion and shock. He knows that all is lost, that no matter what he does, she will never trust him again.

And after they were getting so close.

He watches as she shakes her head no, placing her hands in a temple over her mouth, and he's about to explain, about to admit to his deceit, when the cry of the TARDIS begins to echo against the walls of the living room.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

_"Tell me a story," she asks while he pushes her on the tire swing attached to the tree behind him; the sun setting in the distance creates a familiar purple backdrop. Its heat kisses his face, leaving him feeling safe and warm. He watches her skin turn different shades against her white sundress and the purple sky. _

"I feel like I've been here before," he whispers. The scent of daffodils and wild lilies float under his nose as his trench blows in the breeze.

"Maybe you have," her reply is equally quiet as she pumps her legs to take her higher and higher. He notices her lack of shoes and how free she looks, her hair flowing behind her as she turns the tire to face him.

"Don't fall off."

"I'm not afraid to anymore…" he hears but he never sees her mouth move, her perfect smile stays painted on. Her eyes look his way but she looks right through him.

"It's just that dreams can be memories, and memories are dreams in focus. I don't know if this has always been just a dream."

"Then do you dream awake?"

"You're hiding something from me and it's only a matter of time. You may think you're clever, but you forget I'm brilliant."

The tire moves back and forth beside him, the warmth of the setting sun making him feel comfortable and fuzzy.

"I don't doubt you'll figure it out, it's just the way the cookie will crumble. You'll tell the world to stop because you'll want to get off, and it will obey, Time Lord."

"I keep coming back here, searching, knowing that I should know. I shouldn't be letting you get away with this; getting away with hiding and sneaking. But I let you because I didn't want to know, didn't want to know the truth. But I do now, and I want you to tell me."

"Be careful what you want for," she counters. Her dress fluttering past him, her throat producing sweet laughter; a portrait of her he's familiar seeing.

"Wish for." He corrects, gazing out on the horizon.

"You hardly wish now, do you?"

"I wish you'd tell me why you keep bringing me here," he tells her, giving the swing a good push, "why she brings me here too…"

"I wish I could tell you."

"Bad Girl. Bad Wolf." He chastises, "I don't know if this is a dream."

He watches the horizon. The clouds pass by the setting sun, colors contrasting against the darkening sky; the scent of summer overflows in his skull.

He hears her laugh one more time before it all fades away.

"What does it matter? Really, in the end?"

"Doctor!" Jack shouts and the Time Lord takes a deep intake of breath, his eyes opening and his chest convulsing in repetitive motions. He chokes and splutters as his head screams in pain; his mouth tastes of blood.

"Jack," he says, realizing that he's on his back. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"We've never met like this," Jack returns, shaking his head in confusion.

"Really? Wonderful, now my memory is going as well as my sanity." The last thing he remembers, but he can't remember, not at the moment, because everything is hurting, his eyes, mind, body and soul. Rose. Her name pops into his head past the agony and suffering. He was with Rose and something's happened, and he doesn't know if he's ready to be told.

"I don't know. I don't know what happened to you guys. Romana brought us here, we walked through the TARDIS door-"

_"Romana!" _

"We have to go. Now." Is her firm reply to his obvious surprise, and she hardly looks past the TARDIS door and into the small apartment.

"I'm kind of, in the middle of something." He tells her, pointing in Rose's direction, and she looks up to where his fingers land.

"Rose," she asserts with arrogant certainty, when she looks up at the younger woman who is still standing behind Peter, her hands on his shoulders.

"Yes." Rose answers looking back and forth between the Doctor and Romana, waiting for one of their responses, still looking shocked.

"Romana came to get me, but when she saw Rose, she went crazy." He says, as Jack lifts him up into a sitting position. His eyes still haven't fully recovered, the image of Jack above and beside him still hazy. His stomach turns in multiple knots, but he refuses to be sick. He has to know what happened. Why he was knocked out and where everyone else is.

"You stupid child. What were you thinking?!" Romana lashes at Rose who moves Peter out from in front of her as the Time Lord approaches. He is too surprised to stop Romana as she passes him, too shocked by the unfolding events to reach out and stop her.

"Don't you talk to her like that." He and Peter say in unison. They both look awkwardly at each other before looking back to Romana and Rose.

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Rose furiously asks the woman standing in front of her. It's obvious to everyone that Romana is stunned by the intensity of the younger female and the tension only grows as they all see her lift her chin with arrogant superiority, attempting to reclaim her supremacy over the situation.

"Fren. Anais. Take her to the cell chambers."

"Yah well, she wasn't the only one." Jack tells him. He watches the Doctor wince in pain and wipe the blood from his lips and his eyes, searching for the other members of the party. But even through the haze he can't see anyone else in the room; only he, Jack, and the TARDIS occupy the space. The coffee table has been broken beside the couch, although nothing else seems to have been damaged in the room.

_He watches as Fren and Anais begin to move closer towards the alternate Rose before he realizes what she's saying. _

"You touch her, and I promise you it will be the last thing you'll remember doing." His voice calm but deadly in its anger.

Fren stops and grabs Anais's arm, halting his fellow Time Lord, both look at him neutrally, still not moving.

"How dare you usurp my authority." Romana snaps, never tearing her eyes away from Rose, both staring at each other with a fiery intensely. He watches as Rose's jaw clenches and releases; her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare. He can smell them, the room reeks with the stench of anger and frustration and he knows that the other Time Lords can detect it, can discern the danger too. Rose does not give off the normal scent of anger, she registers to his senses as a feral animal. She smells like a predator.

She smells like a wolf.

He knows that Fren and Anais know he means what he says, he realizes that they take him very seriously at this moment. He's asserted dominance over them with his voice and body language, shown his superiority and they still follow their instincts, still follow their academy training.

Lucky for them.

"Don't do this Romana, please." He pleads, his voice never breaking but the weight emotion behind it crushing, "She's not who you think she is."

"No, she is. She's just not **what** you think she is." She argues, lifting her chin haughtily to Rose. "Are you the one who sent out the telepathic message?"

Rose's soft gaze catches his, her eyes searching his own. Even with his betrayal, he wonders if she does it out of trust for him instead of doing it because of the angered Time Lord in front of her. He nods his head, a sign that it's alright for her to answer, unsure of what she's looking for. Apparently it's enough, because she looks away before swallowing.

"Yes."

"And are you infact Rose Tyler? The same Rose Tyler that the Doctor lost to a parallel universe in the year 2006?" Romana asks, her eyes hard and set on Rose.

She looks at him, pain in her eyes, anger and betrayal at his appearance in her life.

"No-" "-Yes"

Martha and Rose chime in unison.

"Am I the only one responsive?" The Doctor asks hoarsely, his voice laden with pain as he holds his heavy and swimming head in his hands, before his knees buckle and he crumples to the ground, too weak to continue. Jack catches him before he does, holding the Time Lord steady. The Doctor pushes himself out of Jack's arms almost immediately, embarrassed. He holds Jack's arms though, holds them to keep himself steady. Holds them to show Jack silent gratitude.

They face each other, though he hangs his head until his eyes finally clear. When he lifts his gaze he sees Jack's steel blue eyes full of understanding and loss, of anger and sadness, of love and hate.

"No, you were the last one to wake. I thought you were dead, or at least… going to regenerate." Jack answers, his jaw as tight as his words.

"Won't happen." He winces in pain as he shakes his head, for a second forgetting about the throbbing ache in his mind.

"What? Why?"

"She won't let it happen." He says taking the Torchwood director's help reluctantly, letting the man lead him by the arm towards the open door of his ship.

"Who won't?" Jack asks him very carefully, stopping right before the ship. And he knows he's treading on conversationally hazardous grounds.

"I don't even know anymore. Where is everyone?"

"Waiting and ready to go, they're inside the TARDIS."

As they make their way up the ramp, he notices that everyone's buckled in and ready to take off. Unlike his partner, all are looking worse for wear with blood smeared all over their faces. He looks around to see that Rose holds Peter's hand in her lap as Martha stares at her coldly. Anais and Fren sit beside Martha, all waiting for he and Jack to board.

"What happened?" he asks, taking in the damage and the sight of the scene. They all look tired and ill, all eyes red and puffy. He's seen these symptoms before, he vaguely remembers this pain.

"What I came to stop." Romana responds as she pulls the dimensional stablizer and pushing the vortex loop, "The battle's begun. The Glarecox are moving into the solar system. They sent a message along with the last PTW's to damage and warn any higher beings, I'm deciphering the message right now."

"That doesn't make any sense, the Box of Pandora was sealed in the Torchwood vaults years ago." He steals a peek at Rose as her eyes widen at his admission. Peter pats her hand gently as she turns away blushing.

"Yes, well they didn't come from this Pandora's Box, they came from a different universe."

"From a different universe…"

_"Bad Girl. Bad Wolf." _

"What does it matter? Really, in the end?"

"They came through the punctured holes." He answers knowingly.

"They killed Chrysthema and Thanie almost instantly. They knew they couldn't outrun them so they sent me a message, it's the only reason why we survived." She says before she smashes her hand against the console station and stops to breathe.

"How'd they die?" Peter asks quietly, and she turns to look at him. Her face softens at once when she meets his gaze, her recognition of the young man evident.

"You're a halfing, I can feel the beats of your hearts."

"How did they die?" he asks again with more bravado. There's no anger in his voice, no demanding tone to it, and she sighs and looks at Rose.

"By PTW's," she answers him leaning against the console.

"Psychologically Transmissive Weapons." Fren whispers, knowing that the humans in the room wouldn't know what that meant.

"Then why did they die and we survive?" Peter asks, looking between Fren and the Doctor, always trying to maintain his watchful gaze at the Doctor.

"They were closer to the Glarecox when they were hit, they didn't have enough time to create a counter defense, so they sent us warning so that we could. Without their message every being here that has psychic abilities would have been dead."

There's a long silence as they all look around at each other, realizing that everyone there has some form of telepathic ability; the blood all over their faces betrays them.

Betrays all but Jack.

"I thought Time Lords could regenerate?" Peter asks, directing his question at Rose, but it's the Doctor who answers.

"They can, but PTW's barbeque the mind and kills the soul, even if we regenerate, we don't really live… We exist, which is worse than death. Think coma, with much more drooling. What I fail to understand is why they are here."

"They are here because there's going to be a Time War." Romana tells him, her voice cracking a bit before looking again at Rose, and he can't help but feel her remorse and pain at the thought of another one.

"They are here because someone punctured holes in the fabric of space and time, and the Time War is spreading."

* * *

It's just how she left it. Clothing lying on the floor, her make up lying on the desk by the mirror, and she only remembers because she knows she didn't start learning to clean up after herself until after she left him. She closes the door behind her and takes a look around, walking over to the desk and sitting down in the chair. In fact the entire TARDIS seems so familiar and so surreal, it's as though she cannot really remember all the exact details, but as she sees more and more of it's interior, wanders more corridors, listens to her moans and cries of acceptance, the more she realizes it is exactly the same as it was a hundred years ago.

Only a few years ago.

She can't believe how stupid she was. William? What had she been thinking? But it had all made sense; the slow loss of her sanity, the shifting and changes that are beginning to occur in her body, the heat that radiates off the tattoo on the back of her neck. It all pointed to this, to the Time War, to the prophecy's fulfillment. She had no idea, in the beginning, that she would be the cause as well as part of the remedy. She can't even find it within her to care about the Time War at the moment.

All she can think about is him. After years of analyzing and praying, of wishing and wanting, after trying to separate him from William, and then more analyzing. After days and days of trying to kill herself with no avail, after she slowly began to lose the memory of him, although she held onto it with an iron grip, forgetting his smile and laugh, the lines in his face and the tilt of his head. After she lost herself over and over, first to liquor, then to responsibility, then to raising Peter, until there was nothing left but an empty shell, a hollow girl that eventually was cleansed of hate and rage. Cleansed of love so pure and gentle that some days she wept of the simplicity, when she wasn't too busy telling herself that she was nothing to him.

Nothing at all.

After all this time, all these prolonged moments, these stretched out chapters of the story, the acts to her play. After she had finally given up.

He came back.

She pulls open a drawer in her dressing table, finding scraps of paper and trinkets she had once thought had been important.

_Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far far away…_

Among the items is a dog eared copy of _1984_ that Jack gave her.

Jack.

What was he doing here? Had she been lied to all along? She had listened as they talked about her like she wasn't even in the room. Listened to his voice as he explained that she was not his.

And he was right, she wasn't.

She was never his.

So it had only been a couple of years for him from what she can gather, a couple of years and he's already moved on. He's got his own version of the mortgage and the white picket fence and the two point five kids, or companions for that matter.

And Jack is there, alive and well, and just as handsome as ever. She can see it in his eyes, she knows now what she's done, but she refuses to acknowledge it. It's easier to believe that only she knows the pain of being immortal, of living without being able to die of grief or wounds or pain. Of never growing up, or never growing old. Of never being allowed to forget him and fall in love and be generally human because of it.

Her hand searches the drawer and finds a pressed rose from one of the botanical gardens on Barcelona.

_"A rose for my Rose,"_ he had said, _"so that she never forgets just how special she is." _

"And how special is that?"

"You're the only flower on Earth that exists throughout time and space."

There's a bottle full of ice-water from woman's wept and one of her missing posters her mum made her take with her. She pushes back the other items to find a scrap piece of paper, torn and old around the edges folded neatly into two.

Opening it up, she's surprised with what she's written over a hundred years ago.

_**Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?**_

He had said it once, whispering it under his breath when he thought she wasn't listening. Mickey had just come aboard the TARDIS and they were all awkwardly getting settled to the new arrangements. She had heard him say it before, say it after they were coming back from Rome. Excusing herself from the console room she went to the library to see if she could find the meaning of the saying that the TARDIS refused to translate for her ears. She never did find out the meaning until she no longer was with him.

**_Who will watch the watchmen?_**

Only in the last ten years has she really understood the full meaning behind the words, understand why he had needed to constantly remind himself of their meaning. Now, she just carefully folds the paper and puts it back in the drawer.

"What are you doing?" Martha asks from behind, startling her.

She turns to look at the younger companion, her arms held neutrally at her sides, her body not leaning or touching anything within the room. She respects her, she may not like her, but Rose can already tell she has respect for her.

"I'm just, going through some things… They're a lot similar to my Do-"

"No, I meant, what are you doing to the Doctor, why are you lying?" her voice angry, her face confused.

Rose stares at her, surprised her own response doesn't echo Martha's. She's too tired, too old to care, too numb, angry, and afraid.

"Close the door." She tells Martha before sitting on the bed. Martha slips further into the room before turning to close the door behind her. Rose nods to the dresser chair for Martha to sit, which she does.

"I could hate you." Rose starts. "If I really put effort into it I could. I always thought I wanted to hate you, always thought if we ever met I wouldn't be able to help myself. But I don't. I don't hate you, and it bothers me that I don't, and at the same time it makes a lot of sense."

She looks up at Martha, who sits there with a look of fear and a bit of shock, and still it's obvious she understands. "I don't know you, and I don't want to get to know you, I just want to worry about the Time War and Peter then finish out the rest of my days."

"Is that why you won't tell him?" Martha interrupts.

"Tell him what?"

"Tell him that you're his?"

"That's none of your business." Rose says condescendingly.

"Or is it because you're dying?"

They sit there for a few moments, staring at one another as the silence stretches thinner and thinner between them, ready to break. She feels her beast stir in slumber waiting for her barriers to crumble. But it's no longer the beast that tries to possess her, she doesn't know what it is. At least with her beast she knew what it's intentions were, whatever the other facet of her personality is, it's not just satisfied that the Doctor has come back. She doesn't want it satisfied, she doesn't want to know what will happen then. But she feels around her pocket for her pills, taking off the cap and pouring five or six into her mouth and swallowing. She eats them like candy these days, her body's resistance to it growing little by little every hour of every day.

"There's nothing he can do." Rose finally says, looking away from Martha. "My time's almost up, I have a job to do, and then… we'll see what happens."

"He has a right to know."

"He losts his rights over fifty years ago!" Rose throws back, surprise over her outburst showing on her face only seconds after. But it's too late, the calm and cool exterior she had so carefully built for the other woman has crumbled, she knows it as Martha nods lightly in understanding. She doesn't want her daemon satisfied, but she doesn't want to let go of all she's known either, to admit he's come back is to admit she's been wrong.

To admit that she still hurts.

"You think you can just come in here, and judge me? Judge my decisions? I've had enough time to do that for myself."

She watches out of her peripheral vision as Martha stands to leave the bedroom, before stopping at the door.

"He told me once that when he first met you, he had to ask you twice. Told me he never had done it in his life before, but something told him to make that extra trip, said he still remembered the smile you wore as you came running to him, came ready and willing for adventure."

"That girl died over seventy years ago." Rose tells her, grapping a pillow and placing it in her lap.

"Doesn't matter. Not to the point I'm trying to make."

"And just what is your point?" She asks, turning to see Martha still standing at her door.

"You left it all behind. Your mum, boyfriend, your life-"

"Don't you dare mention my family. My mum and Mickey died because they came over here. It was my fault they died here. After I got past the fact that knowing the Doctor probably saved their lives from the Siltheen's invasion, the Sycorax, and even the cybermen, even after I got past all of that I realized that I still could have saved them. That if I had figured out the sonic waves only a little bit sooner, if I had kept Dad at Torchwood just a little bit longer, their deaths would have never happened. I live with that everyday."

"I wasn't trying to disrespect your family, I was just saying that you left life behind and for two or three days you had the most incredible experience you had ever had in your life. But when you came home, a year had past. You realized it wasn't all fun and games, that while you go and try to forget up there, everyone else has to go on living down here. That's what happened to you. You had to go on living for years while he had a few good days. Even then he never stopped thinking about you."

She sits there in silence, looking down at the pink pillow she placed in her lap, tracing the edges, not ready to let go to her resentment.

"Your mum forgave you right?"

But she doesn't say a word. She refuses to let some girl she met a little over an hour ago sum up the last hundred years of her life into a few small and petty words. In her heart it isn't the same, it never was the same. She never knew what her mum was going through, if she had she would have gone straight home. But he had to have known. Had to have known how she would think of him, always and forever. How although she would try and live a life fantastic and true, that it would never compare. That other bloke's would never just add up. And yet he still found time to smile, to laugh, to forget her and carry on, to hold hands and find Jack, to find his own people.

"Nevermind, doesn't matter. Just thought I'd let you know. He loves you. Always has and always will, and God knows I could hate you too for all his moping about and distancing himself from me." Martha adds.

"You think you know him, know what he's all about. You just wait until he leaves you behind. Then you'll know, and you'll hate yourself. You'll hate that you never understood and that he was so bloody good at toying with you. You'll hate that you still long to touch the stars, still crave the adventure, even when it means that you lose a little more of yourself to him. You think it was all fun and games, and that I wouldn't trade it for the world? At the time I didn't think so either, but look where it left me. An embittered hundred year old woman with nothing, not even the ability to die. I've had to share my body with two other entities that to this day I still can't place. Even Peter isn't rightfully mine. If he loved me so much and it's been so little time for him, why did he take you? Why did he ask you to come along when he told me he was going to travel on alone? He lied to me so why shouldn't I lie to him?"

"Are you really that obtuse? I don't have to justify my relationship with him to you. When you're really interested, and not trying to attack me, I'll let you know. You can resent or hate him all you want, but lying to him is only lying to yourself. If you're really over him, really over it all, you wouldn't have to hide it."

She goes to close the door, before Rose calls out, "Martha?"

She stands there, waiting for the older companion to speak.

"Who else knows?" Rose asks, no anger or resentment left in her voice, as though they didn't just go for each others sore spots. She is not defeated, but she feels no need to fight the other woman. She'll understand in time, and when she does maybe they'll get along, have a spot of tea. Laugh like her and Sarah did once.

That had been her name hadn't? Sometimes it was too long ago to remember.

"Fren and Romana, that's it. Oh and Romana says she wishes to see you, says she's uncoded the message." Martha tells her tightly before closing the door quietly behind her.

* * *

They sit there in his library, staring at each other across his desk, neither willing to speak. They've sat there in awkward silence since Romana kicked everyone out of the console room, all departing to separate areas in the TARDIS. He hadn't had the heart to talk to her, to invite her here, so instead he watched as she wandered away down the hall, while Fren and Jack retreated with Martha to her room. He hadn't really noticed the boy, or the fact that he was following him until he had made his way to the library.

He had been too wrapped up in thought, too focused on the idea of facing another Time War before he turned to open the door and saw Peter behind him. They had made the briefest of eye contact, and nodded in understanding at each other before he turned the handle and entered. They had sat there in silence ever since, both unprepared and unwilling, both desperate for answers but unable to put their best foot forward.

However being the older Time Lord, he decides for once to act like it.

"How'd you-"

"You didn't feel right."

The Doctor nods, and pulls his specs off, rubbing his eyes. "In what way?"

"In EVERY way."

He sighs, placing the specs in his pocket before leaning back in the chair and placing his hands behind his head. "That's the Gallifreyan in you."

"Really? I thought it was a part of my magical human abilities." Peter counters, rolling his eyes and folding his arms over his chest. The Doctor watches him, all the subtle moves he makes and can't help but smile at the boy. This is his son, not necessarily _his_ son, but his flesh and blood nonetheless. He can see it in his eyes, in his posture, hear it in his voice. He has a voice, which is more than he can say for most Gallifreyan-born. In another time and place this would have been his, his to hold and love, his to mold and teach. He can't help feel a bit proud with how he's turned out so far.

"Are you always this insolent?" He asks tiredly, not able to help himself at the idea of poking a bit of fun at the young man in front of him.

"Do you always point out the obvious?" The boy asks him, tilting his curly head to the side, his mouth forming into a smirk. It reminds him of Rose so much that it nearly knocks the wind right out of his lunges. It occurs to him that this is a product of them, both of them together. Rose and the Doctor.

This version of him had a plus two.

"You get it from your mother apparently, because that doesn't come from me."

"Well you're not my father are you?" Peter mumbles, his chin falling into his chest. It's apparent he doesn't like the mention of the word 'mother'.

"Point and check."

The sit in silence for a few minutes before Peter breaks their silence, and he starts thinking over the events that had just occurred a few hours before. He remembers how she smiled at him, how her eyes had captured the light that fell through the window. She had been disappointed, or was it relief?

_"I heard your call." _

"Right, of course. That would make sense, silly me."

"What do you mean I get it from my mother?" Peter asks interrupting him from his private speculation.

"Well Rose always was a bit-"

"Rose isn't my mother."

* * *

Romana's waiting in the console room when Rose walks through the entrance of the corridor. They both look at each other neutrally, neither knowing where to start or how to go about it.

"You wanted to speak with me?" Rose finally asks, slowly making her way to the console, her movements slow and controlled. She doesn't want to get angry, she doesn't like fighting her daemons when she's angry; she'd rather just get along.

"I did." Romana says, her airs are still high but there is definite respect for the other woman now, and Rose has no idea where it came from.

They finally meet halfway, standing near the data screen, both bathed in a green light. The TARDIS is in stasis, hiding in the Time Vortex until Romana makes a move. No one really understands what is going on.

"I want to appoligize." Romana starts, breaking the eye contact they held for so long and it shocks Rose slightly to see the older and wiser female admit wrong doing.

"I acted rash and unaccordingly, assuming that your actions were a direct cause of the Glarecox coming through the gateways betweeen the universes."

"Just because I sent out the telepathic message Romana, doesn't mean that I was the one who made the holes between our universes." Rose counters, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know, I know that now. Which is why I'm trying to apoligize. I realize that you didn't do it."

"Well if I didn't do it, then who did?"

Romana turns to look at the monitor on the console, then motions for Rose to follow her. Both women watch as a face appears on the screen. It's the Glarecox General, the same Glarecox General that tortured Rose to death repeatedly until William saved her. She feels the tattoo flare as the rest of her body goes numb at the sight of his homely visage.

"To those who have survived, you needn't worry, we will kill you soon. Behold the mighty Glarecox, come to wipe out existence and time. We come to destroy, no one shall be spared. Our masters deem it so. End transmission."

They stand in silence for a few moments, before Rose pipes up. "Well that was pointless with its 'hello, goodbye.' They have quite the bravado, don't they?"

"This is serious Rose. They used to work for the Daleks, but the Daleks are gone now. We have to figure out who the Glarecox are fronting."

"Do they have to be fronting a race? Can't they be evil bastards without the orders? It happened with our world."

"No, it doesn't really work that way. When your Torchwood opened Pandora's box the Glarecox were still under the idea that they were working for the Daleks. You said that this W. was the one to reopen it and cause them to vanish. I take it he was another version of the Doctor." Romana says, her voice lacking compassion or understanding. Instead, in it's place she's retrieved her annoyance and superiority. It's enough to rub Rose the wrong way.

"How do you know?"

"Peter's got Gallifreyan in him, I doubt you know many Gallifreyan-born."

"How DO you know the Doctor Romana?" She asks, tilting her head and crossing her arms. She's tired of the run around, tired of the tip-toeing they do around each other, and here is her chance. There is no Doctor to interfere, no Peter to hold her back and be a model for. No Martha that she has to be weary of hurting. Romana knows her secret and has yet to tell him, she knows because if she did he would have found her by now. Here's her chance to demand some answers.

"Every Time Lord knows the infamous Doctor."

"That wasn't the question, and you know it."

Romana sighs and the supremacy drains from her face as she sits down in the Captain's chair. "Do you really want to know? Or are you just asking so that we avoid the fact that you're lying to him."

"You know better then anyone else aboard the TARDIS why I'm lying to him. You know what's happening to me, what I cannot change. I felt it when we were back at the apartment, you read my mind. Don't think I didn't let you."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. With your power you could have held your barriers higher then you did, it was an allowance, not a forceful entry." Romana agrees.

"So tell me Madame President, what did you see?"

"Something more terrifying then I could ever describe." Romana whispers, and the TARDIS hums its agreement as they bathe in its glow. Rose sees the empathy in her eyes, the fear there and it irritates her. She looks away as it makes her feel more like a victim than she's willing to admit. To see Romana's fear is to realize that a Time Lord is afraid of her. It's enough to make her scared.

"And that is something I have to live with every day. Knowing that one day, it's all going to come crashing down around me. My sanity, my life, what little pleasures I get. He talked of mind-death and regeneration, how they'd only be an empty shell. Worse then death he said. That's going to happen to me, isn't it Romana?"

"You're evolving at a rapid rate. Not only do you share your mind and body with two other entities, but your body's changing, it's altering, you're becoming-"

"A Gallifreyan."

"I don't know what you're becoming."

* * *

Martha is walking down the hall away from the console area, away from Rose's room when she sees the Doctor walking towards her at full speed, determination and anger in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" she asks, as he reaches her, his arms grabbing hers for leverage.

"I need to see Rose, have you seen her?" he asks her, desperation and need drip from every word spoken.

She thinks back to her conversation with the ex-companion, thinks about what was said and shakes her head slowly. "No, I… I haven't."

They stand there, time slowing as she sees realization wash over his features, making her heart skip a beat. She sees the dangerous look in his eyes, the one that he usually reserves for the worst of the worst, the monsters and creatures that trick him, the ones he hurts the most.

"Martha, what's going on here? What do you know?"

"Nothing," she answers a little too fast and she feels his grip around her arms tighten. She winces in pain as she sees rage sweep over him, a murderous rage.

And it's directed at her.

"Don't lie to me, I know you know something!"

She thinks quickly, and realizes how vulnerable she is right now, being held there and being caught in a lie. They have a strong mental link, and she realizes now just how dangerous her keeping something from him has become. Hastily, she starts reinforcing the walls in her mind, desperately trying to build up her fortress against what she knows is going to happen next. She stands no chance, as he comes barreling through, his fury and fear sweeping over her body in spasms.

_**Who else knows?** _

He had to ask you twice.

Your mom forgave you right?

**He lied to me so why shouldn't I lie to him? **

That girl died over seventy years ago.

You left it all behind. Your mum, boyfriend, your life.

He has a right to know.

**He losts his rights over fifty years ago!**

You had to go on living for years while he had a few good days.

**Who else knows?**

He loves you. Always has and always will.

Lying to him is only lying to yourself. If you're really over him, really over it all, you wouldn't have to hide it.

**You think you know him, know what he's all about. You just wait until he leaves you behind. Then you'll know, and you'll hate yourself.**

You can resent or hate him all you want.

**Who else knows?**

She's on the floor when she finally wakes from the memory onslaught to watch him storm away.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

"Romana out. Now." He barks with fire and fury as he enters the console room. He glares as she turns to Rose and waits for a response from the ex-companion. Rose glances his way, her eyes lingering on his inscrutable face as his uncompromising rage only touches his eyes and voice. She nods, which is enough for Romana, her anger lingers in the console room.

And yet, he never wavers, never loses his eye contact with the redhead to watch his fellow Time Lord go. He's too busy using his distance from her as an advantage to study and take her fully in; too consumed to let his intense gaze falter. And still, she meets his captivated stare with an oblivious look in her cold and old eyes.

Her skin is flawless, the hair longer and a different shade, but it still smells the same; like bleached pillow feathers and citrus fruit.

He can't believe he missed that.

Her make-up and style have changed, she wears dress slacks and a dress shirt.

She still wears runners.

He's past that brink of anger into being irrational, lost all sense of fairness and sensibility. He storms over to where she stands, stopping only a few inches away from her, his eyes burning deeply into her, his own emotions snowballing.

"Rose."

He says one word. Just one word, but it's all he needs. In that one word he conveys his betrayal, his confusion and anger, his love and disgust, his unbridled passion. With that one word he can see her realization, her fear and pain. It crashes against him in waves so staggering that he needs takes a step back; her agony and loss suffocate him. They surround her like dark clouds, protectors against anyone she wishes to keep away. And there they stand in a timeless face off of will and emotions; neither willing to recoil or look away first.

"Why?"

Again, it's simple, direct, and to the point. The English language consists of over 600,000 words and he has only needed two of them to convey the wealth of his complex emotions. He can't remember the last time he's blinked, which would make sense as to why the tears stream so freely down the sides of his face, tracing tracks along his laugh lines. It would also explain why she drops her head and takes a step back, still susceptible of intimidation after all these years.

_After all these years…_

"Hello Doctor." She greets quietly, focusing her gaze on the floor. He laughs; bitterness, surprise and humor all churned together. It echoes from within him and against the chamber-like walls of the TARDIS.

He watches as her chest rises and falls in a quick repetitive fashion, breathing in as her body gives off the familiar scent of her fear. Both signs are muted and he knows if he wasn't so familiar with it, if he hadn't put her in danger's way almost every day of their time together then he wouldn't have been able to tell. She's had a long time to build up her defenses; to hide the heart of the girl he loved behind a tall and unyielding barricade. If he can just touch her then everything will be all right, he will be able to let it go, the lying and the underhandedness. He hates being angry, even more so, he's always hated being angry with her; but he has to know. And so, he reaches out to touch her, past his own ire and irrationality, past his own fear and confusion. She flinches and steps back out of his reach, like an abused animal, wounded and unwilling to be helped. It makes his stomach lurch and his rage swell through him anew.

He has a lot he needs to say to her, and still nothing to say at all.

"Now, now Rose. No need for formalities. You seemed just fine calling me William earlier when you invited me into your flat."

"Don't you dare." She shoots back, her eyes flaring as she snaps her head back up to meet his fervent stare.

"Don't I dare what? Ask you questions? Wonder why you thought I was a different Doctor-"

"He wasn't you. He was never you and don't ever presume to think that that didn't kill me everyday." She interrupts, the emotional detachment in her voice spurring him on as she begins to walk away.

"Ah, so you wanted what you couldn't have? How funny that we both ended up with the short end of the stick."

"Fuck you." She spits, stopping to whip her head back, her hair spinning round her face.

"Swearing doesn't become you Rose. Not now as a preschool teacher, not ever, so there is no need to resort to it. Cussing is the refuge for the weak minded, and we both know you aren't that are you? Doctor Tyler."

"Had to do something in the last hundred years, eight years in school didn't seem like that much of an investment."

"Apparently neither did two and a half years." He barks at her, his anger taking control of his voice.

"Who the hell do you think you are to attack me? You seem to keep forgetting that YOU left ME."

"Oh I think I would remember better than you. Apparently, the last hundred years has skewed that memory. I never LEFT you, I lost you. Therein lies the difference."

"Lost, what a convenient way of describing it. Being left alone with nothing. To truly be lonely."

"You have no idea what it means to be lonely." He retorts with disgusted and condescending appall. He was speaking to her like she was little girl. Something he didn't even do when she was with him; still tender and young at heart.

"Right! I forgot you know exactly what it's like. For all those years you must have traveled alone, no one to talk to and pretend for. Sorry, must be my mind slipping in my old age. But you'd know what that was like wouldn't you? Oh great and powerful Doctor?" She asks scathingly, hands waving erratically as she marches back.

"Are you mocking me?"

"Why would I mock you? Why would anyone mock you? After all, there's nothing farcical about you. That's where they all make their mistake. Bet they never made it again."

"You're not making any sense!"

"I might never make any sense again! I may have two heads! Then you burn up and blaze in front of my eyes, turning my entire world upside down. Never once did you think to tell me, to mention it. 'By the by Rose, If we ever get into a real pickle I could end up dying. And if I do, I may just change everything about my self that you know.' But no, you expect me to understand, expect me to just accept it and move on-"

"Very rarely did I ever have a companion who could just accept it and move on. Maybe I had some trust issues, okay?"

"HAD some trust issues, now that is a laugh." She chuckles bitterly, placing her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes.

"Oh, so now that you're all grown up you think you're my equal? Hmm? That you understand what I'm all about? I heard what you said to Martha. Heard how you, as you humans always do, 'get' me finally. You forget I have about eight centuries on you-"

"Doesn't mean you don't behave like a sociopathic three year old. You kill without a second thought, thinking that a few apologies here and there will absolve you-"

"I NEVER make the mistake of thinking I'm absolved. I'm past absolution." He growls, "What about you Rose? Did you ever rationalize the thousands of people murdered at the expense of your decisions?"

He knows that although he doesn't care much about the words he fires at her right now, he'll regret them later. She has no rapid-fire rebuff to his exploitation of her weak spot. He knows she feels responsible for the loss of her mother and father, for the loss of everyone in her first battle against the Glarecox. He feels no satisfaction as he watch her face crumble for the slightest of seconds before she pulls herself together, her features tightening in resolve.

"At least I didn't kill my entire race."

"No, just your mother and father."

It's a low blow, insane and past cruelty, even for him, but the knowledge of it still has yet to stop him. Stop him from wanting to hurt her; to break her. So, this is what they've resorted to. Trying to best each other with petty and cruel information. This is exactly the reason why he doesn't get too close, because when you don't get too close, then you don't have to deal with the aftermath. But he wants to comfort her, to hold her close and feel her fragile breath against his cheek. To see her smile her mischievous grin, the one she had once reserved for him and him alone. He doesn't know how to reach her, how to touch the Rose he is in love with.

He watches her because he can't help but do otherwise; the driving power behind keeping his emotions collected, the reserve he's so used to practicing is long gone. He just stands there, waiting. Waiting for this to end, for the world and the universe to come crashing down around them. He could care less. She is all he wants. And she's something he'll never have.

She lets the tears fall, her face never changes as they cascade in torrents down her smooth cheeks.

"Why are you here?" she asks, her voice never cracking, her own resolve still holding strong. He doesn't know if he has it in himself to hurt her anymore, the anger is already starting to ebb into a rational state. He's already told her why he's here; but that's not what she's asking. Besides, his previous answer isn't the real reason he's here, and they both know it.

There's only one reason why he's here, one small reason that he hates himself for because it breaks every rule that he's set for himself. He thinks of what he's going to say and knows that there's no way that all his forms of rationale will work this time. There is no opportunity for him to tell her what she already knows. It occurs to him then that maybe she never did. It's a scary thought, a terrifying thought that makes his unruly rage flare once more. How could she not know? How could she be so bloody silly and stupid to not understand?

"I'm here because…" he starts, but he still struggles to this day to finish. She's supposed to be better then that, cleverer then the average human. That day, that day with Sarah Jane, really had she not known what he was going to say? Has she never comprehended the reality of the situation? Had she never learned that actions speak more then words?

"Because why?!"

"Because I love you!" He shouts back at her.

He said it.

He finally said it and time didn't stand still, his hearts didn't stop beating, the earth didn't stop turning (that he knows of). Instead life and death still balance along the fabric of time and space.

"Because I love you." He says again, and it's less callous; filled with more sincerity. He doesn't know why he feels the need to repeat himself, but he thinks it may have been more for himself than her. They stand there; the only audible sound is the whine and wheeze of his old ship. He wonders if he'll be able to hear her heartbeat if he listens just a little closer , hear it quicken with his admission.

"It's too late." She tells him quietly as shakes her head in disbelief, holding herself. He comes to understand that she's not doing it because it's cold within the walls of the console room, but because she's trying to keep herself together.

As quickly as it came, the anger begins to fade and a clawing desperation begins to take its place. Frustration and anxiousness fill him up to the brim as he shakes his head, mimicking her reactions.

"No. No it's not." He pleads with her, attempting to control his heavy breathing, trying to hold back the onslaught of panic and fear that wells within him.

"Yes, it is. You think you can storm in here, and say the words and everything will be okay. But real life doesn't work that way. You fail to realize that I waited for you. I waited through hell and high water. I waited your five and a half hours. I waited obediently and patiently, thinking that you would make possible the impossible. Until there was nothing left. You can't just expect me to forget the last hundred years of my life, even if I wanted to, which I don't. I'm not the same girl."

"Yes, you are. Deep down inside you're always the same person Rose, no matter what happens. You know that I know that better then anyone else." He tries, the frantic edge in his voice no longer contained.

But she just shakes her head. Her body turns away from him, "It's too late."

He watches his world begin to walk away from him, the light at the end of the tunnel begin to get farther and farther away. He doesn't understand it, he's supposed to be able to catch the horizon, that's what he does, and yet it's just out of his grasp.

And he will not accept that.

The dread and fear that had surged through him finally bursts within him and he is back to that irrationality, back to a senselessness that he doesn't know how to cope with. He chases after her, catching up with only a few steps, before grabbing her arm and whipping her around..

"No," he growls out, pain and passion fighting for control of his tone, "it doesn't end like this; not here, not now."

He stares into her heart and soul, looks deeply into those hazel orbs that used to look at him with awe and wonder and sees that they still can.

And then he kisses her.

He kisses her before he realizes what he's doing, crushing her against his thin body, holding her tightly in his passionate onslaught. She's no victim to his will and desire, and before he can pull away, pull away to pick himself up from this obvious fall, she's kissing him back frantically.

Releasing her arms, he moves trembling hands to her face, holding her as he falls deeper into her heart, loses more control of his emotional state. He can smell her; taste her against his lips, her passion and hunger, the desire and fear. But there's another part of her he can taste, another sense and emotion he had never felt from her before. She demonstrates her dominance, her brutality, as she grabs him by the hair, arching her body into him, pulling herself up to meet his lips. He can taste time and stars in her kiss, smell what he can only describe as magic.

He has no control, none what so ever as clothes are stripped away along with layers of emotion and baggage that they've held onto for so long. He doesn't hold back, doesn't maintain the walls of his mind, as he gets more lost in the sense of her being. Without regret or worry, his mind floods into hers, and he barely hears her gasp as he enters her. Both minds and souls dance; rejoice in their long awaited reunion. Physical bodies are joined together in celebration, mimicking their heart's and psyche's whim, through skin pressed against skin, lips against lips. Neither can see or hear, smell, taste; neither is aware of anything other than this feeling. This is their moment, and they shine in its radiance. Both burn brightly for each other with each moan and sigh.

_It's so beautiful. What is it? _

**It's the supernova that I had to burn up just to say goodbye.**

You don't have to say goodbye ever again.

They grow to be like the supernova, become purple and blue gases that glow brilliantly. They dance together, molded through love and time as one, until the brilliance of it is just too much. The friction of the universe grows and grows, colors and gases condense and pressure builds, until they scream into the abyss, the explosion blinding in its intensity.

As his soul pulls away from hers, he feels strangely content, knowing that in this action he's lost more of his essence to her, more of himself.

As he stares down at her everything comes into focus around him, he sees her face beneath him, her eyes as lost as his own. He watches her as the realization and guilt of what just happened pours over him in hot scalding surges. Her hair is a mess, lips swollen from violent kisses, skin glowing with perspiration from their fusion. Her chest heaves in time with his, their three hearts beating as one, as their eyes meet for the first time since they began.

He shows her, explains with his eyes how sorry he truly is, how far he's gone, that he knows how much damage has been done. Scrambling, he tries to get off of her, tries to give her space, even if that means he has to go hide in the deepest darkest corner of his ship to lick his wounds. Before he can gather his bearings and remove himself from the situation, she uses his lack of balance to roll him over and lay on top of him.

He looks up at her, confusion and shock etched across his features, stunned by the change of position. Placing her hand on his chest, he feels the beat of her pulse against him as surely as she feels his own. All he can do is gape, as she sits there, her legs resting at his sides, her beautiful body straddling his own pressed against the cold and hard grating of the floor. She leans down, pushing her hair behind her ear, as she kisses his lips with a gentleness that he's only ever heard about. The kiss is timeless, neither too long nor too short, a simple and yet completely perfect gesture. As she pulls away, she sighs as she lowers her head to his chest, resting it there as she stretches out to lie beside him in his arms. Arms that he hesitantly wraps around her, one hand finding her hair to run his fingers through. They lie there in silence, their hearts beating together rhythmically in time, their souls finally converged.

_The world doesn't end because the doctor dances…_ he hears her whisper in his mind.

* * *

"Martha, what happened?" Romana asks, and although it is the first instance where the Time Lord has addressed her, it's enough to wake her out of her deep concentration. 

_"Make it stop! Please, make the voices stop!" she screams trying to pull herself up the front of his long coat, unsure of who she's grasping, her eyes unfocused on the person in front of her. Taking hold of her arms, he pulls her closer to himself and she can hear a new sound amongst the chaotic roar in her mind. _

"Follow me…" it whispers, dulling the screams around her.

He had purposely burst through her mental barriers, the mental barriers he taught her to make over weeks and months of practice. When they had first met, she had just begun to feel the awakening of her ability. It had been happening more and more frequently before she met him, only rearing its full grown head after she had spent a few hours with him. He had saved her; brought her down from the ledge of sanity that she was about to fall off of. He had taught her, helped her keep control.

_"Focus," he tells her, both stand facing each other in the console room. _

"I am! It's not as easy as you make it look!" she bites back, frustrated.

I promise it will be. _He whispers in her mind._

And had just ripped private thoughts and memories from her mind for his own benefit. He had done something that he had once compared to the act of rape. If it had been anyone else; if he had witnessed someone else doing the same to her, he would have been furious.

"Martha, what's wrong?" Romana tries again, concern replacing her normal tone of superiority as she touches Martha's arm gently.

The contact, the press of Romana's hand against her own, snaps her back to reality and she looks up behind tears at the older female.

"I'm sorry, I just… um…" Martha mutters, pulling herself up and away from the wall. Romana looks at her through troubled eyes, and gives the girl some space to get up. They stand there, both unable to walk away, eyes locked, before nodding in understanding. Firm lips pressed tight, she places her hand back on Martha's arm, a sign of affection Martha can tell does not come naturally for her.

"Come," she says, "I'll get you back to your room."

* * *

She's doing up the buttons on her blouse when she hears him clear his throat. 

"I should probably go apologize to Romana for interrupting you two."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that." She smiles as she looks at him briefly, both flush at the eye contact. When he looks away, more than a little uncomfortable with the recent situation, she takes the sight of him in. For him, she has only been gone for two years, only away a brief period of time in the long run but she can still see the impact. He's traded his brown suit for a new blue one, and although it's just as small, it drapes off of him in a box-like cut making him seem thinner and frailer then before. The lines around his eyes are deeper, the look in them sadder than when she was there. This is what Martha was talking about, this is what she was trying to make her realize.

Not once does it cross Rose's mind that this is because Martha is any less important to him then she is. It's because he really does feel like he lost her. He doesn't lose anyone willingly; it's not something he can cope with often. He struggles with his tie, something she doubts he'd have trouble doing if he just focused, but she watches him, helpless as he fusses with the looping.

"Here," she murmurs, taking his hands in hers and looking up into his eyes. He gazes down at her; trust and sorrow in his eyes, concern and tenderness. Looking away, she clears her throat as she pulls the tie apart and starts anew. Finishing, she tucks it into his suit jacket, and presses his coat down. Hands still lingering, he places his on her arms as they stand together closely. Sighing, she lifts herself up on tippy toes and kisses him gently, the press of skin still sends an electric shock through her.

"I'm going to go talk to Peter, explain what's going on. At least what I know is going on."

He scratches the back of his head, fixing his gaze on the floor before sighing, "You're right, probably the best idea, since the last time I saw him I was storming out of the study. That's probably where he still is."

She nods before pulling away from their embrace, their arms slip away from each other, until all that's left is to let go of each other's hand. Taking one last look, they part ways to go find the others.

He walks down the walkway, drifting in the aftermath of his thoughts, the wake of their union. He touches his lips where the taste of her kiss remains. He had kissed her, well he had done a lot more then that, but the fact remains that he was the one who initiated it.

He had told her he loved her.

_"You're hiding something from me and it's only a matter of time. You may think you're clever, but you forget I'm brilliant." _

"What does it matter? Really, in the end?"

He had finally finished what he had sought out to accomplish. He found her and she was safe. He had found her and now she was here on the TARDIS; here with him.

She finally knows that he loves her.

So why does he still feel like he's missing something?

Why is he still missing some small piece of information? What is holding him back from discovering the truth? When he melded with her mind he saw no clue of some hidden plan, no secret agenda that he could expose. What he did see was confirmation of something he was too scared to bring up with her. Martha had mentioned the fact that she was dying, and Rose had not denied it. When he was in her mind and soul, he saw it there, the darkness creeping in, slowly waiting to consume her whole. He finally has what he's wanted for years, the knowledge that his people still exist, and the one that got away, the one he lost. Other then the fact that another Time War is just around the corner, and that they all might be dead within hours, he's found peace. Now he knows; he knows for sure. By finally finding her, he's going to lose her all over again whether they die in battle or not. The pain consumes him, his hearts break as he tries to think of how to stop it from happening, how to prevent the inevitable.

Everything comes to dust… all things die.

But not his Rose. She hasn't died; her body hasn't even aged. So what is it that is going to take her away from him? Her soul is withering away within her body. Does that mean she's going to end up an empty shell? Never to physically die; to remain immortal but lost to him forever? He can't, won't stand for it. He refuses to. Not after all they've been through, not after finally getting her back.

He watches Anais come around the corner, a frantic look on his face.

"What's wrong?" The Doctor asks, stopping the younger Time Lord from passing.

"I need to find Madame President, it's an urgent manner." Anais responds as he tries walking past him, but to no avail. Instead, the Doctor smiles a carefree grin and places his arm around Anais.

"I'm looking for her as well, and I know she's not this way, so why don't you fill me in as we look for her?"

"But sir… this is confidential infor-"

"I don't doubt it is, which is why you should be quiet and brief. Maybe we'll find her in her old quarters."

* * *

She hears the sounds of voices from the other side of the door to her left. She hesitates before knocking on the door, only to have it open and Fren peek out from behind the wood. 

"Martha?" he says, his head dipping back into the quarters, "It's Rose."

She listens closely for the reply, which is returned after a few moments.

"Let her in."

The door opens and she looks in on the members of the room. Martha sits on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. Jack sits on the end of the bed, leaning forward, his head down in thought. Fren stands by the door, closing it behind Rose as she enters. All is quiet between everyone, the stillness and space small for all four people cramped within the room's walls. Martha looks up at Rose, her eyes sad and sore, dried tear tracks cover her cheeks. Jack looks up at Rose, his face blank and cold. She shivers at the look he gives her, wishing she knew if he had figured it out yet. It's out of fear that she looks away; too ashamed to look him in the eye when she knows it's her fault that he's here. Her fault and she's pretending that she's not the real Rose.

"I've gotta go." He says, his voice full of disgust and disappointment.

"Don't do anything Jack, it's not worth it." Martha warns, her voice gravelly and tired. Rose watches as he nods, his face angry and tight as he studies his hands.

"Right, fine. But only because I know you can take care of yourself." He says, looking at Rose, before standing and passing by her to enter the hall.

"I should go too," Fren says, holding open the door that Jack exited out of, "Romana may need me for some of her planning procedures."

Martha nods, and Rose turns to watch Fren leave with a brief but sincere smile. It's nice to know that not everyone aboard hates her. Sighing, she goes to take Jack's abandoned seat, mimicking the same position he had not more then a minute before. There they sit, neither speaking, but the silence is neither awkward nor unwanted. They already have a mutual respect, some semblance of an understanding.

"I came to apologize." Rose starts, her voice firm and genuine.

"I know." Martha sniffs, causing Rose to look at her. She sits there, her legs still up to her chest, a pillow in her lap.

"I'm so sorry Martha. Some of the things I said-"

"You had every right to say them. You weren't necessarily wrong."

Rose nods, the silence again a comfort between them. Sighing Rose flops back onto the bed, turning onto her side and propping her head up.

"How mad is Jack?"

"Um…" Martha begins, her voice sighing and lost. "I don't think he knows how to feel. I didn't tell him, if you were wondering."

"I know."

"And I didn't tell the D-"

"I know." Rose cuts her off. It's too painful to hear, knowing what he did. When she converged with him, she felt it, felt how he ripped the information from Martha, how he hurt her.

"What he did was wrong Martha, I can't deny that. I'm sorry he did it to you, and I'm sorry I didn't tell him sooner so you would have never been involved."

"Not much we can do about it now, what's done is done." Martha tells her, a small smile appearing on her face. "If it makes you feel any better Jack's more upset with him than you."

"Yeah, it does," Rose chuckles, a smile forming on her lips. "What are you going to tell him?"

She watches Martha think about her question, a question that is vague in its simplicity, and yet they both know how serious it is. What was she going to say to him when she had the chance? What was he going to say?

"That he's a right bastard," Martha starts and both women giggle and sigh, "Then maybe that I forgive him?"

"You can forgive him? After what he did to you?" Rose asks, surprised.

"Sure, wouldn't you?"

They smile at each other, a bond beginning to grow between them. Rose sits up and edges closer to the other companion.

"So, tell me about how you first met."

* * *

Just as he suspected, he and Anais find her in her old rooms. What he didn't suspect was Peter sitting there with her. 

"What's going on?" he asks, looking back and forth between Romana and the boy.

"Peter was giving me a detailed account of Rose's fall into… her, predicament."

He nods, surveying the scene as he rehearses the apology in his head. Peter sits on the bed, unable to meet his eye as he strides into the room, sitting down beside him.

"Just, what is her predicament do you think?" he asks his voice is tight and unyielding along with his face.

"I think you know," Romana quietly tells him, full of compassion. But he does not desire her compassion or sympathy and it only invokes his anger.

"Explain it to me." The words are simple enough, but they hold all his forceful rage, which makes the room seem smaller and more stifled. He can feel Peter uncomfortable beside him, the boy's desire to leave the room and go find Rose, to do anything other then relive Romana's questions and obersvations. The silence lies still, like stale air, pressing against their lungs with its thick and musty weight.

"Rose's spirit is dying Doctor, there's no way around it." Romana murmurs staring at her hands in her lap, "Not only is her body evolving but she's also juggling two different essences."

"I don't think you understood. Tell me something I don't already know."

Sighing she meets his eyes, "I'm not sure yet, which is why I was talking to Peter, but I think we can save Rose, fix Jack and end the time war all in one."

"Killing two birds with one stone?" He inquires, a hint of surprise and admiration leaks into his voice.

"Learned from the best."

"Don't remember ever managing a three-shot." He cannot deny he's impressed, or that he isn't curious as to how she managed to figure all this out within the last few hours.

"I'm sure you have, you've just forgotten."

"As much fun as I'm having, listening to you two banter back and forth like Mac and Tosh," Peter interrupts in annoyance and fear, "can you get to the point?"

"Mac?" The Doctor inquires.

"Tosh?" Romana follows, both looking at the younger man.

"You know, Warner Brothers? The two gophers?"

"Chip and Dale?" The Doctor asks confused.

"NO! Mac and Tosh! They were the WB's… oh never mind."

"I hate to say it, but the boy is right, what's your point Romana?" He leans back, his body upright and still, holding his chin high. She gives him an incredulous look, one that once again reestablishes her superiority.

"I made my point."

"What's the problem then? Why are we so morose?" this is the question he knows she won't avoid. It had all sounded too perfect, too simple to be true. And maybe it is, maybe this whole universe is just another dream that's lasted too long. Maybe he'll wake up tomorrow and there she will be, sound asleep in his arms, the scent of her body intoxicating as she lies practically motionless beside him, only her chest rising and falling with each precious breath. Or maybe he'll wake up tomorrow and find Rose never left him; he'll just get up and walk to her room to check on her, a slumbering head amongst piles of pink duvet. Maybe she'll have never existed at all, a lover that he made up in his own head, someone who he molded perfectly, even with all small imperfections, just for him in his head.

That was always the problem with knowing all there was and ever could be; you have trouble keeping up with what is.

"The solution may have adverse affects." She meets his eyes when she tells him, a show of respect.

"How adverse?"

"Death."

"That's… quite the adverse affect. What are our chances if we don't do this?"

"Death."

"I see."

They sit in silence. So, this is how it was going to end. Many cultures and species all fell under the same belief that your life (in some form or another) flashes before your eyes before you die. He wonders if the same rings true if you know it will happen before the end of the next few days.

"Why are you here Doctor?"

He looks back to Romana, who still holds her gaze firm. She is waiting, waiting for him to make a decision, to lead them like he did so many years ago. But he doesn't know if he can do it; if he can lead them all into death again.

"Right, I came to talk to you in private and Anais came to tell you that the universe it about to collapse in on itself within the next twenty four hours. Anyone care for some tea?"


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_She stands in the middle of the room. The carnage, evidence of what happened here, lies all around her, strewn across the floor. But all is quiet on this front, the battle over only hours previously, the reality of it sinking in. _

"I thought I'd find you here." She hears a newly familiar voice call out from behind her, "how'd you get past the guards?"

"Easy," she tells him, holding up her security badge. "Still holds some power I suppose."

She hears his footsteps crunch their way over to her, broken glass and rubble giving way under the comical chucks he wears. So many dead, a realization that's hard for her to make. Only two days ago they had been laughing, toiling through their daily work, breathing. Jenna had asked her to lunch and she had declined. Rick had been flirting shamelessly with her, which she hadn't ignored. Margaret the lab supervisor had told her excitedly she was expecting.

They were all dead now, all lost because of reasons she hasn't yet been willing to accept.

He stands beside her, neither ready to disturb the eerie silence that engulfs them. The sound of their breathing echoing against the hollowed out walls.

"They killed them, aliens did this."

"Yes."

His voice holds a sadness and respect that cradles her against the rough edges of realism. It's cold in here, cold enough for her to wrap her arms around herself to try and keep the warmth in.

"Are they all like this? Is this what the human race has to look forward too?"

There is traces of bitterness edged around the words that are fair and justified. She has a right to know, to know if this is all there is to life. Working, laughing, breathing, dying. Dying at the hands of a species who claims superiority. She thinks of the food chain, thinks of how the lion eats the lamb, how it's all just fodder in the end. She feels sick.

"No, not all."

She can hear the words he means to say but doesn't have the strength too, can hear him telling her that he's not like this, that he tries to prevent the likes of this. But she knows he doesn't think it would do any good saying the words, wouldn't make a difference in the slightest.

"Your condition is only going to get worse Martha."

She nods, rubbing her arms as she looks out the gaping hole of the second story building, into the daylight. How would they explain this? How would they find a way to cover up what really happened here? How would they justify their lies and schemes to cover up the unexplainable? But she doesn't blame them. She can't find it in her heart too. Instead, she feels guilt, knowing that if she hadn't seen it with her own two eyes, she would have denied the brutal reality, the truth of their extinguished existence. The dead will remain dead, whether disrespected by lies or not. At this point, she finally understands the need to placate the living with stories. They aren't ready to understand.

"Come with me." Three words she knew were coming. He doesn't say them lightly, he already told her that he travels alone, already flashed that dark side she's sure to see more of if she does go with him. But he says them because they both know she's only going to get worse before she gets better.

"I can teach you how to control it, teach you a lot of things actually. Just imagine the perks."

She chuckles at the thought. Sleeping in late, and still always being on time. The stars, the science, the wealth of knowledge that's just begging to be discovered by her. She tastes the possibilities in the air. He wants to help her, teach her how to control her abilities, and while he does she gets to learn what happens in the distant future, or stumble upon the past, careful to only leave footprints.

As she gazes out the hole in the building, she sees the sun set in the west, a combination of blues and pink decorate the sky. Out of the carnage there is beauty. It's something she's going to have to learn.

"Alright."

"Did you find it?" Rose asks.

"Find what?"

"The beauty in the carnage?"

Martha thinks about the question, sighing as she holds her legs. "Yes, I think I did."

They sit in her room, talking about experiences and losses, bonding over the reality of their extraordinary circumstances, making up for lost time.

"What happened then?" Rose asks curiously, crossing her legs and lifting herself higher up on the mattress. Martha thinks about the question, her own thoughts traveling in a confused and unmanageable fashion.

"I don't know, really. I guess it all started changing after we got married."

"… Married."

She feels the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, her eyes bulging from their sockets. "No, no it's not…" She laughs nervously, "not what it sounds like."

"It never is," Rose replies a hint of a smile appearing on her lips, a sign of her trust and unenvied interest.

Martha begins to breath smiling and blushing furiously at the inappropriate slip. "We went to this planet, only it wasn't the planet he meant to take us too."

"Of course it wasn't."

"It was the first time he did that, so I wasn't really up-to-date on how traveling with him really worked."

"No worries, it took till the third trip for him for me to realize how twelve hours can turn into twelve months."

"I'm lucky, that hasn't happened so far. A lot of randomness though, planets we don't know we are going too, situations that are unplanned. You would think as a Lord of Time he would show a little respect to the great tool, organization." Martha muses.

"Yes, well he may be an alien but he's still a bloke." Rose snorts.

"True enough. Where was I?"

"A planet that wasn't really the planet-"

"Right. Sorry, anyways. It was called Quing Zalpha six, being the sixth planet of the seven stars of the Quing Zalpha Quadrant. We hadn't even been out the doors three minutes when we have a whole bunch of tribal folk wearing loin cloths and mud paint surrounding us and the TARDIS."

"Loin cloths?" Rose queries a hint of shock and disbelief in her voice.

"Apparently it's not just an earth custom."

"Oh, lovely."

They take a moment to giggle together before Martha continues. "Anyways, they held him back as they grabbed me, carrying me off and deeper into the jungle. I thought I was dead, seriously. I thought that was going to be it for me, and it seems weird, going back over it in my head, realizing all the things I had gone through that were even worse previous to that as well as after and I can't place my finger on it. But at that moment, it was then I had been the most afraid I had ever been in any adventure. I was screaming for him, my hand outstretched as I watched him struggle in the arms of the tribesmen holding him back."

"It was because he was terrified."

"What?" Martha asks looking up at Rose. But Rose isn't gazing her way, she's staring off into the distance, a serious look marring her beautiful features with worry and despair. It takes her a few minutes but Rose looks back to her, waking herself out of her own thoughtful stupor.

"The reason you were scared. Sorry, you said you didn't know why. Never mind I'll be qui-"

"No, it's okay. Tell me." Martha urges, placing her hand on Rose's knee as a sign she cares to know. Rose's gaze falls on the contact, Martha feeling uncomfortable with her urgency before pulling back. Rose just smiles, an indication of her approval, and Martha's anxiety instantly stills.

"Okay, um. How do I say this. You were terrified because it was the first time you ever saw him as someone who can have more emotions than just angry and manic. By seeing that he honestly had no idea how to get out of this situation, you realized that it was possible that you wouldn't be able too."

"Wow. I never, it seems so silly and simple now."

"Don't worry, it took me a long time to figure it out too. Almost thirty years."

"When were you most frightened?" She asks, resting her own head against her knees.

"You know, it will seem like a silly situation in comparison to everything else I went through as well, but it was with this regeneration of him too. He had just left Mickey and I stranded on this space station in the middle of nowhere, no way of getting to him, no way for him to get back to us, at least that we knew of."

"It took that long for him to show fear?" Martha asks surprised.

"No, it's odd really. When I first met him, he was different."

"A different body, right. He was explaining that when he explained regeneration to me."

"He explained regeneration to you?'

"Yes, well. He said he never wanted to make the same mistake again."

They sit that way for a minute, the silence a silent acknowledgement to the past and mistakes made. Rose sighs before continuing.

"He was just as distant, but it was always a distance, it wasn't like he hid it. It was really 'this is me, good as you get, take it or leave it.' I took it. He rarely had a plan, was always thinking on the spot, and it took me some time to realize that that was how he worked. He was always terrified Martha, and so I was used to it."

Martha nods silently, too curious to interrupt for fear that Rose won't continue with more information on how the man in their lives worked.

"But then he changed, he changed and everything was perfect again. Nothing ever went wrong and I got a bit cocky. I think I thought that nothing could ever touch us, never break apart the team we had created. The Daleks couldn't, and they were the one thing he was scared of more than anything. We were untouchable. Then, I met Sarah Jane and I realized, things happen and people can get left behind. Whether they're ready to leave or not."

"Tell me about it." Martha mumbles.

"You're not going to be left behind Martha. I won't let that happen." Rose says, and the words are so powerful and strong it's hard for her not to believe them. So she nods, a show of trust for the older companion.

She stares into the depths of Roses eyes, seeing the fear there, the determination that she hadn't noticed until after her rendezvous with the Doctor. It's obvious he ignited a small flicker within her, a desperate urge to survive, to live again. She sees guilt hidden under layers and layers of snowy indifference. The guilt that she could have done better, tried harder to live a better life, to know that he would have come for her sooner if he could. And at the same time Martha senses Rose's new ability to see the forest through the trees. That she's already regained a sense of self, and respect. Its as though this time, this time if anything happens, she's had closure. She's ready to start really living, for the first time in years.

"After Sarah, Mickey wanted to come along, wanted to experience what it was all about. I remember being such a cow to him for the first few nights, making him feel unwanted in hopes he'd ask to return home. But he was so resilient, he always was. He just pretended he couldn't hear the sarcasm in my voice, couldn't sense my discontent. He tried so hard to just make it work."

"Did it work?" Martha whispers.

"It started too. We had stayed in the vortex for the first few days because the Doctor had some repairs to make on the ship. I think he just did it to make Mickey feel uneasy and have some form of cabin fever, but even that didn't get to him. He kept exploring the ship, set up his room and did it all with a smile on his face."

"He sounds like he was a nice bloke."

"He was." Rose admits, her voice getting higher and almost cracking, she shakes her head and lifts her eyes to the ceiling and Martha wonders if it's a way for her to hold back the tears.

"That was so long ago." Rose laughs, a sound that sounds hollow and worn. Martha can't find it within herself to follow suit, so instead she continues to listen intently.

"He took us to this spaceship, that wasn't just a spaceship."

"Of course." Martha chortles, an interjection she uses to show the similarities between them. But Rose just smiles.

"The whole situation is a bit hazy now. I remember we were trying to save this woman named Madame de pompadour. Somehow the ship was a window into her life, a window into 18th century France. The logistics really don't matter because it was a pretty illogical situation. But I remember that he cared for her. I could see it in his eyes."

"How did that make you feel?" Martha asks, unable to resist the opportunity to understand how to deal with the awkwardness of low self-worth.

"I felt… I felt…" Rose starts, unable to find the words. "I felt enlightened. I was disappointed, I was even terrified."

"You felt terrified because he cared about someone different than you?"

"No… I was terrified because he didn't."

"I don't, I'm not following."

"I know, I'm sorry I'm not making much sense." Rose says, reaching out and rubbing Martha's shin, "I mean that, as I sat there and waited for him. Sat there, wondering what we were going to do, thinking about my options I went through a bunch of different feelings. First I was numb and lost, knowing that there had been no other option. That if I had been in his shoes I would have done the same thing. Then I was angry, angry he left Mickey and I behind, enraged that he never thought to give me any directions before charging off to save her. And then I was tired. I was tired because I had cried non stop for two hours."

"You said you felt enlightened though."

"That came after the crying. Because it was then I really started thinking rationally. I realized he did it because, that was just who he was. He would have done the same for me, he would have done the same for Mickey. He would have done the same if it had been a man or woman. His main desire and drive is to help if he thinks he can. It always will be and it is his one true greatness and fault. His Achilles heel. I started to wonder, maybe he never told me what to do because he trusted me enough to know I would do the right thing. I started to think, maybe that was all I could ever ask for, was what I had experienced here, with him."

"What did Mickey do?"

"Well, what Mickey did best in those days. He tore him down, cursed his name and was done with it. After a good half hour of moaning and complaining he got up and started trying to think of contingency plans. Kept asking me if there was a TARDIS manual."

"A TARDIS manual?!"

"I know. He was a mechanic. Thought if he could drive a car he could pilot a TARDIS. Bless him."

A moment or two of silence passes, before Martha pipes up.

"But you said, you said that you realized he doesn't love anyone differently."

"That's right." Rose answers, her eyes meeting Martha's, "Regardless of what he says, he cares about us all equally enough to do what he thinks is the right thing. Didn't matter if she had been his truest love, or the most annoying creature he had ever had to deal with. Her life mattered to him. Just like everyone's does."

Martha nods in agreement, thinking about her own experiences with the man they both have such high thoughts regarding. "You were terrified because you realized that one of these days, he wouldn't have a magic plan to save everyone."

"In this instance it was actually a magic door, but you're bang on the money."

"I didn't think he had a plan either. They through me into a hut and locked the door. I didn't know if they planned on killing me, raping me or eating me. It was all too scary. He told me after that everything was fine and that he knew they had been harmless in the grand scheme of things. But those were just words to me. I had for the first time realized that one day he may not be able to save me from the monsters in the closet."

Both nod silently, an affirmation to each other that they both finally understand.

"How did he end up saving you?" Rose asks, a curious look on her face.

"That's where the marriage comes in. Apparently the chief wanted me for his wife, the Doctor had to challenge him to win me back. According to him he didn't realize that it meant he had to marry me on the spot if the chief lost."

"What did he challenge him too?"

"According to him, he challenged the chief to a spelling bee."

"Yeah, well he once told me that he sang a song and the Daleks ran away. So…" Rose says, trailing off for a moment. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't really know." Martha sighs, stretching her back out. "I guess anything is possible."

"How did you know you had the powers?" Rose inquires, no time they share to waste on even the most comfortable of silences.

She looks at the older companion; at face value they look like best mates, two girls who could have grown up side by side catching up after a few years apart at schools. But that's not really what's going on here. This is who she replaced, whether he wanted it or not. It's not like she asked to come along for the ride, but it doesn't mean that it will hurt less when she'll get dropped off at home.

"It was strictly emotions before. At times it was like, I could feel what other people felt. My mum always said it was that I was just graced with unlimited compassion and empathy, but when I got to my teens, I knew that wasn't the case." She stops for a moment, remembering her first time. It seems like ages ago now, seems so long since she could just feel them and not hear every definitive word.

"The first time I really realized it was when my first boyfriend was listening to music. Some metal song came, something about growing up hating your mother and never knowing your father. I remember it was sung with a sort of sarcasm. Well, I was listening to him sing along with it, and I realized, I realized that was exactly how he felt. I know that sounds a bit daft, but you had to have known James, he wasn't a metal head. He was a bookworm, a quiet, funny bloke. He never seemed unhappy at all. But he was so angry, I could feel it prickling against my skin."

"That must have been so awkward. To know what he's feeling although he thinks he's hiding it." Rose murmurs thoughtfully, touching Martha's hand.

"I didn't understand it, I was sixteen years old and my first bloke radiated anger that no one else could feel. I was out of that relationship so fast he didn't even have time to wonder why."

Both girls chortle softly, neither really believing in the semi amused sounds that were being produced by their quiet mouths.

"Sometimes we can be unfair in our ignorance, although we think we are doing the right thing." Rose whispers, a distant look in her eyes and Martha looks away. She doesn't want to intrude, make the other woman feel uncomfortable when she comes back to reality. She's been doing a lot of thinking these days as well, it's only respectful.

"Then I got older the words started to appear. At first I thought it was neat, but then… well, then-"

_"Make it stop! Please, make the voices stop!" she screams trying to pull herself up the front of his long coat, unsure of who she's grasping, her eyes unfocused on the person in front of her. Taking hold of her arms, he pulls her closer to himself and she can hear a new sound amongst the chaotic roar in her mind. _

"Follow me…" it whispers, dulling the screams around her.

"It got worse." Rose finishes, the words easier for her to find in her own present situation than Martha to wrap her lips around. It brings back Martha to the edge of reality, the weight of the situation that her new friend is facing.

"It got worse." Martha repeats, the words too late to hold any value other than repetition. They stare at each other, a soft understanding developing between them, a sense of strength that only grows stronger and deeper till there is a knock at the door.

"Come in," Martha calls, both looking to see who the intruder is. The Doctor pokes his head through the door. "Martha, Rose… What are you doing here?"

"Well this is my room." Martha states, a hint of gentle sarcasm in her voice. "And Rose is my guest."

"Guest. Right. Been talking have we?" He asks, entering casually, his hands in his pockets. There's a strong hint of careless apathy in his voice, so blatantly forced it causes both of them to giggle. He gives a rather shocked look to their spontaneous reaction to his poor act before Rose shakes her head.

"Honestly, must the entire universe revolve around you?" She asks, pushing a red strand of hair behind her face as she gazes at him rather amused.

"No only on Tuesdays. Look I came here to talk to Martha, in private if I may Rose." He says, closing the door behind him and scratching behind his left ear.

_Oh dear Martha, I believe that's a sign he's nervous. _

**I know, that and when he begins babbling about nineteen eighties pop cul-**

"Oi! I can hear you two!" He interrupts sounding rather offended. They laugh raucously, an infectious sound that almost has him smiling in spite himself.

"Sorry." Martha manages to chuckle out.

"Yes, I'll do well to remember to keep it down." Rose quips as she lifts herself off the bed and towards the door.

"Yes well, I would appreciate that. Rose," He says, stopping her from exiting, the confined space has them face to face as she looks up, "if you have a moment, I'd like to meet you in the study in about, oh, half an hour?"

"When have you ever asked?"

"Well I'm asking now."

She nods her head lightly, amusement glinting in her eye like mischief unmanaged.

"Right." She murmurs, turning back to the girl on the bed and winking, "We can finish later."

"Oh definitely." Martha chimes happily, as Rose closes the door behind her.

* * *

Rose sighs, her fingers tracing the outside of the door as she shakes her head. Martha. Martha will take good care of him when all is said and done, and there's very little left of Rose. She'll help him through his grief and sorrow, past his pain and loss. She will be the one to help him move on, and that's all she can really hope for at the end of the day. 

She begins to walk down the corridor, her pace slow and appreciative and the TARDIS hums and moans her appreciation at the tender strokes against the surface of her walls. She continues walking down hallways and up staircases until she finds a familiar door to a room she had begun to think she had only imagined.

_"It likes you." she hears a familiar voice call out. _

Looking over, she sees him leaning against a different tree, a different tree that apparently does not move or lift people off the ground in its branches. He just stays there, as the tree turns her upside down his leather clad arms crossed across his chest, a look of amusement etched into the lines of his face.

"Well, give me a hand then!"

"Nah, you're doin' just fine Rose." he calls out as the tree dumps her on her head at its base.

Getting up she dusts herself off, and walked towards her alien partner.

"Lotta good you are, suppose it was tryin' to eat me. Whatcha do then?" she asks, tilting her head to one side, and placing her hands on her hips. His lips break into a wide grin as he places his hands on her shoulders.

"What a silly question, the tree would never eat you, it's a herbivore."

"What is this place?" she inquires as she places her hands in the back of her denim pockets.

"This is the TARDIS' favorite room. It's the conservatory and it's all we have left of my planet."

Correction, all that was left of his planet until Romana and her crew appeared out of nowhere from a different universe. She makes her way through the overgrown paths, feeling the heat of the too bright lights and the sounds of the water trickling down the artificial waterfall brings a tear to her eye. She sighs, walking up to her old friend the moving tree to run her hands across the bark. The tree shivers and quakes, it's leaves fluttering and branches stretching as if waking from some great sleep. Gently, one of the many extremities creaks down to stroke her cheek, before rubbing her back.

"Careful, last time you got to close to her I heard you scream from the other side of the TARDIS."

She turns to face him, the Captain who she's been avoiding. The tree wrapping its branch around her as a sign of protection.

"Jack."

They stand there, he with his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, suspenders hanging loosely around the bottom of his pants, arms folded over his chest. She breathes in the scent of the room, the heat surrounding them, the guilt that overwhelms her. The trees grip tightens and she needs to stroke the branch and whisper acknowledgements to allow it to let her go. After hesitating for a moment, the branch unwraps her and pulls away from her.

"I never came to your rescue that day, I always figured he would have it covered. Sure enough he did, wasn't more than ten minutes later you came down, him grinning madly like he always did you trailing behind like a cat who just got cream. I would have thought he finally told you the truth if I didn't know any better." The words are genuine, a remembrance not an attack. The tears well in the corners of her eyes, brimming over and down her cheeks.

"Jack." She half sobs, but still can't move her feet, still incapable of reaching out to touch him, as he slowly walks closer to her, a devilish glint in his eye, the side of his mouth curled in a charming smirk.

"I always tried to remember you both like that, happy and free. Tried to remember the good times we shared. We had good times, didn't we Rose?"

They stand face to face now, her eyes looking up at him, so sorrowful and lost, her bottom lip trembling. If she had ever wronged anyone, if ever she knew that someone had suffered by her hand, it was Jack.

He catches her trembling chin with his thumb and forefinger, holding her strong as he places his other hand behind her back. The contact is unbearable, the gaze too powerful and she so badly wants to look away, but he holds her there, forces her to look at him. She sees it in his eyes, his need to make her understand, not to suffer but to confront what they share, what they both know to be true. She sees the tears well in his own eyes, the pain and turmoil she has suffered mirrored in his own piercing blue stare.

"Jack, I'm so sorry." She cries, the words coming out agonizingly high. He takes a shuddering breath, pressing a kiss to her forehead as his own tears spill from the corners of his eyes. He places his hand on the back of her head and pushes her to his chest, holding her tightly in his arms.

"I know sweetheart, I know."

They stay that way for several more moments, holding each other closely, crying, kissing and laughing. They are two of a kind, even if she shares her soul with the Doctor, she cannot deny now that she doesn't share it with Jack as well. Jack is here because of her, Jack is tied to her in ways that no other in the universe could understand.

And it's not fair to him.

He takes her face in his hands, kissing her forehead and pulling her away just enough to look into her eyes, she can see the happiness in his, the love and adoration for her. She feels his forgiveness.

"Hello." She squeaks, and he laughs at her, pulling her back to his chest to hold her close.

"Oh honey. You make a fabulous redhead."

* * *

"You have something to say to me?" Martha asks, as he stands right inside her door, fidgeting with his glasses. The boldness of the question catches him off guard and he finds himself sitting down in and trying to get comfortable in the wicker chair that is near the end of her bed. She watches him with a bemused look as he crosses his legs one way, then decides to try crossing them another.

Sighing, he finds a position and meets her eyes seeing the expectance and hesitation there.

_"Martha, what's going on here? What do you know?" _

"Nothing," she answers a little too fast.

"I came… I came to…"

_"Don't lie to me, I know you know something!"_

"Well?" she asks.

"I came to apologize." He tells her, having the decency to look ashamed.

"Seems to me you've been doing that a lot today." She answers, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Oh, what makes you say that?"

"Rose. She told me that you were on your way to find Romana when she found me."

"Right I forgot, you seemed to be chatting up quite the storm." He sighs, placing his weary head in his hands. What he had feared the most out of this reunion has finally come to fruition. They have united and become one against him. He knows he's never going to hear the end of it.

"About the oncoming storm? Never."

"Alright, you've had your laugh."

"No I don't think I have, and since you're the one coming to me for forgiveness, I think I may drag out your suffering just a little bit more." She ponders, her eyes turning to the ceiling in exaggerated wonderment. He is unamused.

"Martha, this isn't a joking matter."

"It seems pretty funny to me."

"What I did was wrong!" he tells her with frustrated exacerbation. It causes her smile to falter and the light that shines in her eyes to fade just a little. It's a look that he does not see very often, a face that he feels more shame for creating.

"What you did WAS wrong. As you once put it, it was 'unforgivable, and punishable by things better left unsaid.' But that didn't stop you, and that wouldn't stop you from doing it again. So that really rules out you promising to never do it again. So what does that leave us? An action with a consequence that you can pretend matters to you but it doesn't. You can't have the best of both worlds. You can't feel sorry for yourself good and proper if you're constantly moving on. So instead, lets just cut out the fifteen minutes of morose self loathing and move on with our lives." She tells him, getting off her bed to open the door for him.

"Does that mean you forgive me?" He asks, standing from the chair and looking at her like a wounded puppy. He can't help but feel the sting of her words, the brutal truth behind them that he wishes he could be ignorant too. But that was one of those things about Martha that drew him to her. She always knew how to keep things realistic.

"Does it matter?" she asks, leaning her body against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest as she meets his eyes. He thinks long and hard about her question, a show of respect to her. Does it matter to him if she forgives him? Can he imagine his life Martha-less?

"Yes. It will always matter." It's as close as he can get to saying 'you matter', as close as he will let his heart go on the matter.

She holds his gaze, the scrutiny in her eyes almost unbearable at moments, but he stays strong, never wavering from his judge and jury.

"Then yes, I forgive you. I'll always forgive you." She tells him, stepping out of the doorway so he as the ability to walk past her. He nods his head and stands there, unable to find the right response to her words and it's Martha who ends up speaking first.

"Now get the hell out and go see Rose, while you still can."

* * *

"Rose?" 

She turns to see the study door creak open, the Doctor sticking his head inside to see if she is waiting for him. Once her presence is confirmed, he enters and turns to shut the door behind him. She sits at his desk, an old journal of hers in her hands, left in her room over the last few years.

"You're late." She chimes, placing the lace bookmark between the folded pages and closing the leaves to give him her attention.

"Nah, you were just punctual." He tells her as he walks slowly towards where she sits. She feels his eyes studying her, drinking her in from head to foot and she feels the hair at the nape of her neck stand to attention as her stomach ties in knots. Watching, she notices his brow furrow in consternation and worriment, "Have you been crying?"

Surprised by his forwardness she wipes her cheeks once more, worried there is a sign or indication that betrays her previous state.

"Not anymore no."

Before she realizes it, he's by her side, crouching beside her chair and looking into her eyes. He pushes a strand of hair behind her ear before he asks her what's wrong.

"It's fine really. I just talked to Jack is all."

"Oh, brilliant. How'd that go?"

"We're going to be okay." She tells him, smiling in awe at how openly affectionate he's being. Or maybe he's always been that way and it just feels different because things are finally out in the open. Either way she doesn't want it to go away. They stay like that for a few minutes, gazing into each others eyes as he strokes her hair.

"What?" he asks her, pulling his hand away and resting his chin on them while he continues to crouch beside her.

"Nothing," she says shaking her head, 'You just seem… different."

"Different." He repeats.

"Different."

"Well that very well may be because I am different." He informs her as he stands up and moves away from her chair.

"Oh, are you now?"

"That's right, no seem to it."

"Interesting, might I ask, what is so different about you?" She inquires as she crosses her legs while cocking her head to the side in amusement. She watches his bottom as he moves away from her, removing her eyes hastily as he turns back to look at her.

"Certainly, you may ask. Doesn't mean I'm going to tell you."

"Oh, that's how it's going to be."

"What every happened to the sanctity of the guess?"

"What ever happened to just answering the bloody question?" she chuckles, lifting herself from the chair and moving towards him. She missed this, missed the idle chit-chat, the randomness of their conversing. There were times she tried with her dad, tried with Mickey but neither were very talkative people, and her mother would just ramble on about things that never really interested her.

She's missed having a friend.

"It's the suit." He tells her, interrupting her thoughts.

"What?"

"The suit."

"The difference lies in a suit." She states, trying to comprehend what he's talking about. He nods, a maniacal grin stretching across his handsome face, the lines around his eyes sinking deeply as they twinkle underneath the wisp of bangs that hangs in front of them.

"Oh, what a lovely sentence! Did you ever think of taking up advertising?"

"For three years in my sixties. I must admit it's a pretty snazzy suit."

"Snazzy is correct. I would have also accepted flash, brilliant, funky or blue." He says, looking down to admire himself. She watches him as he looks behind him checking out his own posterior, and it makes her giggle.

"Why are we talking about your suit?"

"Because I needed to know your opinion."

"You need me for an opinion on your new suit."

"Of course. I try to be quite stylish."

"Not from the pictures I've seen." She murmurs under her breath, and it causes him to finally stop staring at himself and his new outfit.

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing." She replies, staring at the ceiling in an exaggerated gesture of innocence. She meets his eye after a few moments of feigned purity and smirks impishly before backing up to sit on his desk.

"As I was saying, I recently have tried to be quite stylish."

"That still doesn't answer why you need my opinion."

"Are you fishing for compliments?" He asks her, his hands finding their way to his trouser pockets.

"What do you call what you're doing?"

"I was looking for an opinion, if you must know, I have high respect for yours." He replies indignantly, his nose raising to the air as he slowly stalks towards her, "After all I only take the best."

She shivers at the sight of him, his prowl and stance as he comes to stand in front of her. "I see that, you seem to have quite good taste in women. I applaud you."

"I do seem to remember saying I only take the best."

"You sure do. I bet Martha's made an excellent wife." And it takes everything within her not to smile or laugh as the words come out or any time thereafter. She sees the strain in his body, the new stress in his stance almost as soon as the words leave her mouth. For a few seconds the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

"Oh yes, about that… I can explain."

"I'm sure you can. You're always full of magnificent explanations. I just need you to know, I'm not that kinda girl. I'm not interested in married men, almost broke up a marriage once, and that was just by accident. I never planned on doing it again."

"Yes I am the despicable husband I'm sure. But trust me, it's not a union of love."

"There was never any doubt in my mind. I bet it was all for the money."

"The money?" He baulks.

"Yes, as I seem to recall that's all that ever mattered to you when we were together. It was always 'if we only had the money to go here.' And 'when we have the money we'll do this.' I knew it was inevitable. Eventually you would need a financier to live this exotic bachelor lifestyle."

"Mmm, you've caught me. There was only one small flaw in this master evil plan of mine." He whispers in her ear, leaning closer to her.

"Oh?" She replies her skin turning to gooseflesh.

"Her fiancé previous to me was the one with the riches. And by riches I mean the nicest mud hut on the block and a few extra pieces of slug at the dinner table. He was the chief of the lakawkanitole tribe, very respectable individual."

"What a prestigious title."

"I have a doctorate in prestigious titles."

"You have a doctorate in many things." She tells him, watching as he straightens in front of her.

"And yet for some reason I still need sugar momma."

"If I live to never hear you say that again, I'll die a happy woman."

The room goes silent, the look in his eyes painful and tragic as she realizes the words that have slipped from her mouth. It's at the moment she realizes that he knows, understands that for him this is a great cause for concern. It's enough to make her feel just that extra bit special.

"Rose-" He starts, but she doesn't give him a chance to finish. For once, it's she who is running away from the situation, the one who is finding a way of not dealing with her emanate demise. For close to a hundred years, all she's ever wanted to is to fade away, to fall into the blackness that consumes her and never worry again. But now, now after she has been found by him, after she's said all the things she's needed to say, she doesn't know what to feel.

She's still ready to let go, still content with the idea of death, and yet she wants to live for her last moments, wants to pretend that this will never end.

She stands at the sound of her name, sliding out from in front of him and away from the desk, walking towards the books lining the shelves.

"I don't know where you found the time to read all of these."

"You're asking a Time Lord where he found the Time."

"Touché."

"We need to talk about this Rose." He says again, walking up behind her and wrapping his arm around her waist. She breathes a heavy sigh, leaning back into the embrace as he gently rocks her from side to side.

"There's nothing to talk about." She replies, pressing her head against his cheek as she closes her eyes. She feels the weight of the world being lifted from her shoulders, in just spending the last twelve or so hours with him she's already started to feel free from her entities, free from her responsibility. She has never before felt such peace. She opens up the barriers of her mind for him, something she's still a little rusty doing, for she's never thought of her abilities that way. But she manages and invites him into her mind, calls him to her. Together, they merge in thoughts, the bliss of the supernova still warming them and flourishing in their hearts.

_**Romana thinks she has a way to save you.** _

Then why are you so worried?

**I don't trust her.**

There are those trust issues sparking again.

**Just… if she comes to you please tell me what she says. I don't want her roping you into something that may not be in your best interest. Something's going on here and I can't put my finger on i. Let's just say she's a Time Lord, and I know what they can be like.**

I would imagine you would.

**I love you Rose Tyler.**

You've been saying that a lot lately.

**Sorry… you weren't… well I guess you were meant to hear that, it's hard to shut off my mind.**

I can sympathize.

**Promise me you'll tell me if she comes to you.**

Why? What does it really matter, in the end?

"What?" he asks, turning her around in his arms, looking down into her face. But she winces in pain, letting a soft cry go as her hand shoots up to the back of her neck. Confused, he turns her around again, pulling back her hair to see what is bothering her.

"What is this?" he asks, his voice cold and distant.

"It's just a marking, it's something the Ouroboros left me after my training."

"… The Ouroboros?" he questions, his hold on her arms tightening. Her heart rate increases.

"Yes, they helped us defeat the Glarecox. This was their symbol."

He lets her go and she turns to look at him, to see how his face reads so she knows what they're dealing with. The look there is one mixed of worry fear and hesitation.

"There is only one problem with that."

"What?" she asks him, her own voice holding fear and dread.

"That isn't the symbol of Ouroborus."

"How do you know?"

"Because that's a Gallifreyan symbol."

"That still doesn't seem that terrible."

"It means that you've been had." He tells her, holding her chin in determination.

"So I was had, they still helped me control my inner beasts."

"Yes but ask yourself, why would a species pose as another race after swooping in and becoming your hero by teaching you about a prophecy that needs to be fulfilled?"

"Because… they created the prophecy." She realizes in distinct horror.

"Precisely."


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**AN:** I just want to appologize to for how long it took to post this. I've been in and out of the hospital last week due to some recent bad health, turning out to be pnuemonia. As much as my computer is my life, it was important for me to sleep and try to get better as fast as possible. Therefore, it's safe to say that I'm almost back to my old self and will be posting more, PROMISE. I half the next chapter already half written ;)

_Dear Leo, _

Remember when we were younger and William Washins asked me to the Snowbash Ball? You told him if he didn't have me home by 10:30 then the thousands of dollars his parents spent on braces would be a complete waste. I asked you what would happen if something we couldn't control stopped us. Like a car accident or the school being invaded by killer aliens from outer space.

Well, something has happened.

And the car is fine.

"Martha?"

She didn't even hear him knock let alone open the door, but as she turns in her chair to see his head poke around the edge of the frame, his bangs falling into his eyes, she can't help but smile at him.

"Jack it's okay, come in."

He enters, closing the door behind him and moving to the bed. She waits till he lies down, his hands linked under his head, his feet crossed. She smiles, the scene tranquil as he grins in return.

_Remember when I used to call you my baby brother even though you were only two years younger? It got so hard when you could lean your elbows on my shoulders and rest your head on mine. Then we started calling you my big baby brother. I don't know why I mention that now, but it keeps popping in my mind from time to time. How we used to hide shoes on Tish, but only one from each pair so she was mismatch. She'd be so mad at us! Always threatening to tell mum. Never did have the heart to though, never wanted to get us in trouble. She's got a good heart our Tish. _

Make sure it doesn't get broken.

"What are you doing?" he questions curiously, the side of his mouth curving more into a smirk.

"I'm…" she begins only stopping to look back at the barely touched piece of paper then back to Jack, "writing a letter to my brother."

"Interesting." He says sitting up and moving to where she sits. "May I?"

She nods, letting him look over her shoulder while she chews the bottom of her pen.

_It's hard to imagine you sitting there, where ever you may be now reading the words that I sit here writing. Time travel makes you think of time in a new light. It no longer is a straight line, but an infinite loop crashing into itself. It's as if she has no pity or remorse, just apathy to continue marching on. Like the waves of the Atlantic crashing against the shore, never stopping. _

But then I could be wrong.

The Doctor's shown me that they can.

"I don't know why I'm even bothering."

"Because it's cathartic?"

"Maybe, still… it's not like he'll ever get it." She sighs.

"What makes you say that?" he asks as he leans over her, his hands resting on her chair and desk, his eyes still focused on the paper.

"Well as I see it there are two options here. 1) we all die in a fiery tragic death or 2) I die in a fiery tragic death and even then, he's not going to have the guts to go deliver it to my brother."

"I think sometimes you underestimate him," Jack murmurs, his gaze meeting hers.

"I'm sure I do."

They stay that way for a few moments before she looks away blushing. "Leo asked me to stay home last time. Was worried it was the last time I saw him."

"Do you really think that it was?"

_You asked me once if it was worth all of it, the danger of it all. That was after you found out that he was there when Adeola died, if I do remember correctly. It was hard, hard to look you in the eye and not feel shame, to meet your gaze and know I could never explain it to you. It was just one of those things you'd have to be there for. Which is why Tish never got us when we were kids, we were always in too much damn trouble. She never understood half our jokes. Anyways, you asked me and I told you nothing could compare. I still believe that, that although the road may be a rocky one, it was my intended. After all, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. I made you read that poem long before school assigned it. Remember? _

I'm so silly. For all the traveling I've done, and for all the things I've seen I sit here and have nothing to say but 'Remember when?' And maybe that's all I've learned, maybe that's all that matters in the end, is the experiences and joys you share together. That's all a relationship is, it's time and moments in space where you connect and share something together. All I can tell you is I love you. Take care of Mom and Dad, but I'm sure you know that already. Without me there to try to play big brother to, (You never listened to me when I screamed I was older than you so bugger off) I'm sure you've been doing the same to Tish. I wonder how she deals with it.

I bet she loves it.

Goodbye Leo, Love you always, Martha.

"I absolutely love stationary." She says, looking back to Jack, the end of the pen still at home in her mouth.

"Really."

"Mmmhmmm. I'm a strange girl who has always had a small quirky affiliation with fine stationary. I used to caress the edges, smell the sheets, and press my cheek to their cold surface."

"Martha-"

"The Doctor knows this. I can't remember if I told him or he caught me doing so one day. So for my birthday last year he bought me a chest that had pages made from white rose petals and iridescent mood changing ink. But there's always been a catch, even when I lived on earth. The nicer the paper and pens, the less likely I'd use them."

"Waiting to use it for something you thought worthy." He interjects, bending at the knees to be at eye level with her.

"Exactly."

"What's the problem?"

"Look at the paper Jack."

They both let their gaze fall back on the leaves, the iridescent ink drying on the crinkled and layered paper. She hears him half chuckle, the comprehension of her point sinking in. She looks back to him to find his face down, the bangs covering his eyes as he shakes his head. Tears well in the corners of her own at the sight, the weight of reality finally catching up with her.

He lifts his eyes to meet hers, the sadness that she feels is reflected in his steely blue gaze. His lips are tight, his face undaunting, but in the short time she's known him she knows that it's a way to hide his true feelings.

"Martha, if anything happens to you, I promise you. I'll make sure your brother gets your letter."

"First, how about we just try to stop anything from happening to me." She chuckles, the tears spilling out the corners, cascading down her smooth and flawless cheeks.

She watches as Jack reaches up one hand to wipe them away, to calm her tears, his fingers lingering along the trails created. She continues to stare at him, almost incredulously at the compassion and attention he's bestowing on her. Without thinking, she leans into his hand her lids closing as she leans in to his face.

It's then they hear the cloister bell.

* * *

She's standing over the viewing screen when they come bursting into the console room.

"That's not a very good sound Romana." The Doctor warns, and Rose can tell just from his tone that he's doing everything in his power not to just push the other Time Lord out of the way and take over his ship. She watches them, her hands pressed to her sides as they both begin turning and pulling things that she still doesn't know all the names too.

"Glarecox have entered Earth's atmosphere, it's only a matter of time before they lock in on us." She tells him, sparks and lights flashing everywhere around them.

Rose manages to hold her ground, the sway of the ship making her use the railing for balance. The light flashing all around her changing rapidly to a red color.

"Is there anything I can do!?"

"Yes, stay out of the way." He tells her passing by Romana to hit a button on her left. She hears running coming down the corridor, Martha and Jack finding their way into the console room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jack asks, he catches Martha as a violent shudder wracks the ship. Rose wraps her arms tighter around the steel bar.

"I have no idea!" Rose calls out when it's obvious that the Doctor and Romana aren't going to answer him. Both Martha and Jack slowly try making their way to the seats installed from Romana's TARDIS so they can buckle up as Fren comes flying into the room, his balance seemingly unaffected.

"About bloody time!" The Doctor snaps.

"System failure's reaching 30." Romana calls out, her voice sounding strained about the bell.

"Where is Anais?!" Fren asks as he begins to help by pulling levers and pushing buttons.

"I was about to ask you the same question!" The Doctor barks, his body going flying into the railing behind him as another vicious shudder causes havoc to the TARDIS. Rose slowly lowers herself to the ground and tries crawling over to him, his face contorted in pain.

"If you must know I was washing. I had to replace my clothing before coming to help. I have no idea where Anais is, I haven't seen him in hours."

"We're at 35!"

They move with a semblance of grace around the console calling out instructions and system crashes to each other as Rose finally makes it to where he's fallen.

"Please tell me, what's going on?" she asks him, trying to help him as they both pull themselves up the railing.

"I don't know. But it's not good, it's the opposite of good. It's bad. It's bad with a capital B. It's…"

"Doctor!"

He stops rambling and meets her searching eyes.

"The cloister bell only rings if there is impending universal catastrophe." He tells her, pushing his way from the railing and immersing himself with the work of helping his two fellow Time Lords with the controls.

With one last brutal shake the TARDIS stills, the bell's daunting last vibration echoes throughout the room as a final warning, the light turning back to a familiar green. All remains quiet other than the heavy breathing of everyone in the room.

"Is everyone alright?" the Doctor starts, "Rose?"

"Yes."

"Martha?"

"Alive."

"Jack, Romana?"

Jack nods and Romana meets his eyes. "We've lost more than 75 of power, all that's left is keeping us breathing and in stasis within the time vortex."

"What about backup su- "

"Gone."

He nods, an affirmation that no one else seems to notice but Rose. she watches as Martha begins to unbuckle herself, how Jack pulls himself off the floor and how Fren waits for orders. The quietness, unease in the room is not good. Something is off, something's gone wrong.

The cloister bell rang.

"I have information that may help the situati-"

"Doesn't matter." Romana interrupts him, her chest heaving as she reads the scans off of the display screen.

"But I think it does, it has to do with the Our-"

"Doctor I said, it doesn't matter."

Rose looks cautiously at him, worried by the anger etched into his features at Romana's blatant dismissal. She can see the passion and rage brewing behind his dark eyes and for a moment wonders if that's where the nickname comes from.

He looks like an oncoming storm.

"You know for someone who's apparently been through a Time War, you seem to not really have a strong handle on things."

Rose cringes at the ferocity in his words, and sees instantly how Romana takes notice.

"What did you just say to me?" she asks him, her own words full of fury and power. If only the electricity between them could be harnessed and used they'd have enough energy to power two TARDIS. She sees the edge of Romana's jaw, how she stands her ground waiting for the Doctor to serve the ball again, he had caught her off guard and she wont have it again this time.

"I said that if you've been through a Time War you should be dealing with things better."

"Well we could always deal with it your way. That ended up working really well." She snaps.

"Not that it really matters but that was your call, not mine."

"Doctor-" Rose interjects her view falling on the screen in front of her. The readings aren't quite clear but she can already make out a few words here and there, a few things that she knows are important to the both of them.

"Oh I see, so I still had to do the dirty work for you in this universe as well."

"Dirty work? What would you know about dirty work. Tell me Romana, just how did you survive the Time War."

"Doctor-" she tries again, the word Ouroborus appearing before her, the letters bold and daunting. It causes a chill to run down her spine knowing there is a connection.

"Just one minute Rose, tell me Romana, tell me all about it."

"We survived…" she falters.

"Oh, I've stumped you now have I?"

"We survived because you were dead!"

The entire room echoes with her obviously painful words. Rose looks up to see the realization in his eyes that he's gone too far.

"What?"

"You died on the front line, we figured out our own way of defeating the Daleks. Therefore you weren't there to push any button."

_"A great big threatening button!" he says, as he runs up the stairs laughing. _

"A Great Big Threatening Button Which Must Not Be Pressed Under Any Circumstances, am I right?" he asks the Sycorax leader who follows him up the stairs…

"which leaves us with a great big stinking problem. 'Cause… I really don't know who I am. I don't know when to stop. So if I see a Great Big Threatening Button Which Should Never Ever Be Pressed… then I just want to do this!" he exclaims with delighted glee while pressing the button down.

The memory brings her to her knees, the force of it too powerful for her to bare. She remembers him that way, so completely maniacal that she thought he was willing to lose the lives of 1/3 the worlds population. Afterwards it never occurred to her that maybe he hadn't had it all planned out, that it had still been possible that he just needed to press that button.

Luckily, she doesn't have much time to think about the impact of Romana's words as the Doctor comes and lifts her from the ground.

"Are you alright?" he asks, the concern in his voice and eyes enough to push the epiphany deep down within her with all her other daemons and unwanted realities. She has no room to make judgment there, she's killed her fare share in her day.

"Look." She tells him, her eyes turning back to the words on the view screen. She sees him turn to read it as he lets her arms go and wraps them around her in an encompassing hug.

"Romana, someone is using the Ouroborus as a guise to get closer too us."

"Why is it spelt with a 'us.'?" Rose questions, letting her gaze trail back up into his face.

"What do you mean?"

"On Earth, there are many different spelling for Ouroborus. There's 'os.' There's 'ous.' I've never once seen it with a 'us.'" Jack chimes in watching how Fren takes Martha by the hand and begins to check her pupils and head for any damage.

"Well that just proves my point about Earth workmanship. Even their writers and historians are shotty. The original spelling of Ouroborus is with a 'us.' I would know because I met them." He pauses for a moment before turning his gaze back to Rose. "Tell me, what did the Ouroborus look like when you met them?"

"Like giant reptilian people?"

"The Ouroborus are beautiful creatures, almost angelic looking. Unless the highway to Earth was a rather rugged one, there should be no reason they looked like reptiles unless they were fakes."

"Well it seemed to make sense to me, Ouroborus on Earth are symbolized by paradoxical infinite snakes who eat their own tail."

"And you just believed them?"

"Well I wasn't going to ask for any I.D.! Usually that's not the first thing I think about when I meet new aliens. 'nice to meet you, can you show me some picture identification so I know that you are telling the truth about what type of alien you are?' It wasn't like I had much to go on!"

"You're right I'm sorry." He sighs, hugging her closer. She lets herself be swallowed into the embrace. As she leans against him for support it hits her, the sinking feeling of wonder and knowledge that she knows she has to share.

"Doctor, when did the TARDIS start translating the words on the data screen?"

"It's not, you're reading Gallifreyan."

The shock of the news impacts her, throwing her head into a spiral, but just like the wave of understanding that came before, another more violent thought enters her head and stops her heart.

"Oh god, where's Peter?"

* * *

Martha watches helplessly as Rose and the Doctor pass her and out the corridor as she gets out of her seat and follows in pursuit shortly after them. She can hear their frantic steps, Rose's worried voice as she screams his name out desperately. But no answer can be heard.

Quickly, she begins opening doors to check inside rooms, just as the Doctor does with Rose running ahead of them. She turns back to see if anyone's followed to help and watches as Jack and Fren begin to look with them for the missing boy.

"Where was he last?" Jack asks the Doctor, Fren coming up beside Martha to calm her own worry.

"My quarters." Romana chimes in behind them, her stance one of distress. "He told me he'd be returning to Miss Tyler's quarters to lie down."

All members of the party exchange glances with each other before watching as a frantic Rose continues to run down the hall screaming out for her young charge. Martha follows them, Rose and the Doctor, her heart racing. They make it to the door, opening it in haste and walking in before she has a chance to catch up.

"No!" she hears Rose scream before she enters the room, the destruction within the walls hitting her with shock. To say the room is demolished would be an understatement. Some books lay scattered everywhere, glass from the desk mirror is broken resting on the floor and the top of the six foot tall bookshelf laying on the ground, and the side legs of Rose's bed are broken. At first she cannot make out what is going on, cannot understand why the Doctor his holding Rose back, her thrashing and screaming too loud for her ears, until her brain finally makes sense of the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. They cannot see Peter because he's underneath the solid oak bookshelf Rose used, a small puddle of blood trails out from underneath the wood.

"Peter!" Rose sobs in a broken and fragile voice, tears streaming down her face as she tries to crumble to the floor.

"Shit." She hears Jack say behind her as he enters the room. He and Fren move to the shelf and begin to lift it, Martha snapping out of her numbness to help them move it up.

"Romana, can you get my sonic screw driver out of my left pocket!" The Doctor asks, his voice tight and laden with grief as he continues to hold back the flailing and angry Rose.

"Oh God, Peter no!"

Romana does so, turning the dial and turning the screwdriver on and pointing it at Peter's head, slowly working her way down his body.

"Alive. Three broken ribs, a broken tibia, ulna and pelvis. Severe bruising and some internal bleeding, but nothing we can't fix if we get him to the medical bay."

"What about his head?" Martha hears Jack ask, her stomach turning in knots at the sight of the crushed boy.

"Some head trauma, but nothing that looks too serious. I won't be able to find out until we get him some medical attention and fast." She lifts herself from the floor as the Doctor loses his battle with Rose and lets her go. Quickly she's on the floor, stroking the boy's blood spattered hair, whispering quiet words to him.

She watches as Romana hands back the screwdriver to the Doctor and tells him the sooner they move his body the better the chances are, and he breathes a heavy sigh before bending down to the sobbing female on the ground.

"Rose?" he questions, placing a hand on her back in a soothing fashion. Rose looks back to him, the fire and fury in her eyes something that Martha has never seen before.

"Don't touch me!" she spits at him, her tears running into the crevices of her mouth. "Don't come near me!"

"Rose we have to move him to the medical bay-"

"He is my life! Everything that has ever mattered to me! Then I spend a day with you and I forget. I forget him for two minutes and I lose him! All because of YOU!"

"Rose-" he says, and Martha can hear the disappointment and guilt in his voice, the sadness for the circumstances that have occurred. But Rose refuses to have any of it, in moments she's beating him with her fists, cursing his name as she pummels his chest. He lets her, trying to reach out and hold her close, crush her against his beating hearts and tell her that everything is going to be okay.

"I hate you! Do you hear me? You killed him! I hate you!"

Martha looks away, ashamed to watch the scene play out in front of her eyes, as she cries silently. She feels a hand touch her shoulder, massaging it gently and she looks back to see Fren standing behind her, a weary despair in his eyes. He pulls her into a gentle embrace for a few moments before letting her go to help Jack carry the broken Peter down the hall. And still, Martha has no escape, no heart to leave her newest friend and dearest to grieve together alone.

"Rose? Breathe." He tells her cautiously, his arms holding her tightly as she begins to hyperventilate in his arms.

"They say that the good are always the ones to die young, maybe that's why they called me the bad wolf." She giggles, her voice taking on a strangely light tone.

"Now now dearie, don't be upset, the boy will be fine, you heard the noble and valiant Doctor. He's not valiant we are remember? The valiant child. That's just like you isn't it, always interrupting. Oh I do apologize go on, say what needs to be said. I was saying that the Doctor can fix him, he is a Doctor after all. Ah yes, but so is the Rose child…"

"Rose?" he asks concerned, one hand reaching up to cup the back of her head as he rocks her back and forth on the floor.

"Rose petals! My mouth's bleeding! Zuzu's petals!! Great now she sounds autistic, I'm trying to keep track! You both yell too much, it's too hot in here." She says, trying to pull away from him and peel off her shirt.

"Doctor." Romana says in a firm and warning tone.

"You can't do anything right, you had one job and you failed at that. What would your father think. Daddy's gone now, left with mum, you can't use them against me anymore."

"DOCTOR!" she shouts, getting his attention this time.

"What?!" he asks her frustrated, as he tries to calm Rose and have her keep her clothes on.

"You need to take Rose to the brig."

The words cause him to shoot and accusatory stare at Romana, the anger and disbelief there overpowering.

"I'm not throwing her in the brig, she's in sho-"

"She's lost it. At least for now, and she's a danger to not only others but herself." Romana cuts in, trying to stand her ground. "Look, I understand your connection to her and her despair but we don't have time. Before she asked about Peter-"

"PETER! PETER NO!" Rose starts screaming, thrashing against his attention and the floor while the Doctor tries to calm her. But the more he tries the more she flails.

"Before she asked, I check the data screen," Romana tries again, shouting over top of Rose's desperate pleas and attempts to no longer be restrained, "The Glarecox have a lock on our position, it's only a matter of time. We need to think of a solution if you're not going to let me use Rose."

"I never said I wasn't going to let you." He struggles until finally he let's her go to roll around on the floor. He stands to meet Romana's eyes, "I merely said that if there was any other way I'd like to find it."

They stand there, neither speaking over top of Rose's moans and groans. Martha watching in horror has Rose sinks deeper and deeper into whatever spell she's under. Suddenly, she stops moving, her breathing returns to a hyperventilation before she starts having a seizure.

"Shit!" Martha exclaims trying to move the glass out of the way of her body. "Don't try to restrain her!"

All three of them move swiftly, moving things out of the way of the jerking Rose laying on the floor. The seizure only lasts a few minutes before ceasing and Rose opens her eyes to look at them all.

"What happened?" she asks, as the Doctor leans over her, holding her hand and stroking her hair.

"You have two hours and counting. I suggest you use your time wisely." Romana tells him, before moving to the other side of Rose on the floor.

"You'll be okay Rose, let me take you somewhere comfortable."

* * *

As he enters the Medical Bay, Jack and Fren look up at him.

"Where's Martha?" The younger Time Lord asks, and with just those two words the Doctor can already sense feelings for her emanating from Fren. He smiles inwardly at the thought, a furious Romana conjured in his imagination at the idea of another Time Lord falling under the spell of the 'lowly' human.

"Where's Rose?" Jack inquires, the tone a little more worried than hopeful. He can see the anxiety in both men, both different in size and weight, different in how they care, and yet both still are desperate to know.

"Martha is helping Romana take Rose to the brig." He shakily sighs, too tired to hide behind an impenetrable exterior. The foundations of his beliefs and love had been shaken too many times in the last week and he's almost ready to just throw in the towel.

"How is he?" the Doctor asks them, both men standing near the cleaned up Peter. The Doctor walks over to the boy, still scratched and bruised, his body broken.

"I suggested using nanogenes but Jack told me to wait for you." Fren says, a weary look crossing between Jack and his superior.

"Certainly, when used correctly." The Doctor says, moving to a cupboard and opening a canister. The glowing orbs circle around him, then move to the quiet body resting only a few feet away, entering his nostrils and mouth, they surround him, set him aglow as they work their magic. Once finished, Peter looks dramatically better, and the nanogenes return to their canister before the Doctor returns the lid.

"After all this time, you had nanogenes all along?"

"I only ever used them in extreme circumstances." He replies to his somewhat annoyed friend. Jack just shakes his head and walks away.

The Doctor looks down at Peter, pulling out his spectacles and the sonic screwdriver. Placing the specs on he begins a scan of Peter's brain.

"There is some head trauma, but it looks like no severe brain damage. Has he woken yet?"

"No," Jack tells him, "No from what we could gather he's in a coma."

"Well that just won't do." The Doctor murmurs. "After all who is apparently going to save the world from all evils if he doesn't wake?"

"Well I guess we'll have too." Fren says solemnly, no hint of sarcasm in his voice. All three men look at each other, their faces guarded but expectant. Slowly all three nod, a silent promise to each other.

"Right, well best I go check on Rose."

* * *

_She is on the prowl, hunting for food as she tears through the thicket. Hunger distorts her every thought, the need to sate herself with fresh blood overcomes every whim. Slowly the fog begins to lift above her, the trees her camouflage as she makes her way to the path. _

A child's laughter can be heard along the trail, her merry skipping beckoning the beast closer and closer.

She hunches down, waiting as she sees the ginger child, a doll in her hand.

"Something wicked this way comes."

Her eyes flutter open at the glaring light above them, only to see the Doctor sitting beside her watching her sleep. Slowly she groans, putting a hand up so her eyes adjust.

"Hello," she says groggily, her voice box sore and tired from previous screaming.

"Hello," he repeats, softy pushing the locks out of her face and stroking her cheek. She looks around to see she's laying in a bed within a padded room with seemingly no door.

Slowly she tries to remember how she got here, what had lead her to pass out.

_"Oh God, Peter no!"_

"Peter!" she says, trying to sit up. The Doctor places his hands on her shoulders and eases her back into the bed, something she would have fought if her head wasn't screaming at her.

"Relax, he's going to be fine. You need to worry about yourself right now. Gave me a bit of a scare back there."

She remembers the agony, the complete loss she felt seeing him laying there unmoving, she remembers the rage she felt to the man in front of her, how she tried to hurt him, push him away. How she said hateful and spiteful things to him about how he was nothing to her, how he was to blame for Peter's death, she remembers all of this, and how he still stood by her, how he held her and stroked her hair. How he hadn't let her push him away.

"I'm so-"

**Don't say it.** He tells her, his mouth never moving to form the words his mind speaks, and so she doesn't. She just lays there, letting him stroke her hair, hold her hand and be still. They both know, they both understand they don't have much time left.

"I'm going out on a limb here, but I have to tell you," he says to her, "I have no plan."

"S'okay, not been the first time." She tells him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He leans into the contact for the briefest of seconds before pulling away. She can see in his eyes he's still not ready to share that kind of affection between them yet, and it hurts to know that maybe their union may have never happened if she hadn't driven him beyond that point of insanity.

"Rose." He says, unable to meet her eye as she drops her hand and he turns away from her. She waits with baited breath to hear his words. The sound she still hasn't gotten use to hearing after all these years.

"I'm terrified." He whispers, this time without the use of psychic connection. She smiles, and places her hand in his lap palm up in expectancy.

"Don't be." She murmurs, as he wraps his long fingers through her own, holding her tightly, "we'll figure it out, this isn't the end."

She sees him nod, although he still doesn't meet her gaze, and although she can't see his face clearly she's sure she sees a tear slide down his cheek. An awkward silence passes between them, as she knows he does not want her to see this facet of him, does not want her to know he can falter.

"You're getting worse." He tells her, and the words just fill up the emptiness between them. He's telling her things she already knows. She already is aware of how bad off she is, she can feel both of them fighting for her body, their will and desire washing over her in waves of frustration and energy.

"We can't always get what we want."

He looks at her, a strange and curious stare in his eyes, and she sees that he managed to wipe the tears away before looking back towards her.

"Maybe Romana's plan is all we have." She hints to him.

"I don't want to believe that."

"have you even asked?"

But she already knows the answer to the question, and the answer is no. No he hasn't because as he's already told her, he's terrified. She shakes her head with a touch of disappointment, her eyes finding their way back around the room.

"Maybe it's not your choice anymore, maybe it's mine." She tells him, trying once more to lift her body from the bed, "After all, being thrown in the brig wasn't on the top of my list of things I wanted to do."

He has the decency to laugh, a small hollow one at best, and they both lean back against the wall that the bed is pressed up against.

"I don't want to lose you again." He sighs, the defeat and self-pity in his voice overcome her and she finds herself already irritated with him.

"Well either way you're pretty much hooped. If you don't give Romana and I a chance, then you'll lose me anyways."

"I know." He says calmly, taking her hand once more and stroking the back of it with his thumb. "I know, I just. I just want everything to work out."

She turns her head to meet his eyes and looks into him, past those brown orbs that reflect years and worlds and lives long past. She looks into his heart and soul, into his mind and makes a connection with him that he voluntarily allows her to do. They sit that way, for a few moments, sharing love for each other, thoughts and feelings, worries and regrets. Pasts and futures.

_Do you want to know what my favorite line from a love poem is?_ She asks him.

_**What's that?** _

But we by a love so much refined, That ourselves know not what it is, Inter-assurèd of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss. Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to aery thinness beat.

**John Donne**

John Donne, and do you know why I love him as a poet so much?

**Because he was a pervy bastard who married a young girl less the half his age and you get your kicks from older men?**

Even in your head you have to ruin moments, don't you?

**What can I say, I have a special talent.**

I love John Donne because he understood the sanctity of letting things happen the way they have to. Even if it meant that he and his love could not have their ideal life together 100 of the time. And he knew that even if he couldn't, that it didn't mean they didn't love each other any less.

**I think you're trying to teach me something… I think I may actually understand… no wait, I lost it.**

Alright, if that's how you're going to be.

**No stop, wait, I'll be good, I promise.**

For someone who's so terrified of losing me, you sure find odd ways of dealing with it.

**It's a defense mechanism, what can I say?**

Say that you understand, say that you know no matter what I'm going to love you.

**I understand.**

Say that you love me.

**You already know that.**

Then say it.

**I love you.**

Thank you.

**Now what?**

Now you kiss me.

And with that he leans in closer, his hand finding her cheek that presses further into his palm as she dips her head to the side to welcome his lips but the moment is lost. The TARDIS jerks and spasms having them smash their heads against each other painfully.

_Doctor?_ He hears Romana call out in his mind.

"What?!" he says allowed, annoyed by the interruption of his and Rose's moment alone. She looks at him curiously, obviously unaware of Romana in his mind. He points to his head and rolls his eyes, causing Rose to sigh and lean her head back against the wall

_Something's happened. The TARDIS, she's beginning to materialize on Earth._

"That doesn't make sense, you said yourself she's running on next to no power, that we were in stasis till we could do more repair work."

_I know, none of this makes sense though I don't have a very good feeling about where we are landing._

"Why, where are we landing?" he asks with most certain dread.

_In the top level of the Torchwood building, where the breach was._

His hearts sink to his feet, the lump in his throat swelling and almost impossible to swallow. As he turns to his confused companion, he can see the worry and fear in her eyes, the awareness that something is terribly wrong.

"Rose? Things may just have gotten worse."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

The blue-hazed image of the space is eerily silent, a calm that disturbs him to his core.

It has been over two years since he has been in this room, over 720 days since his world changed, prior to his fall further into self loathing, before his chance meeting with Martha.

Before it all.

The tranquil quiet within the walls of TARDIS echoes the stillness outside of its confines and down the long Torchwood floor, the ever-looming white wall stretches out in front of them.

"Jack?" His weary tone hints at his own dread. To end up here, means that there is something that he still has not been able to place his finger on. It's enough to drive him insane. Before it seemed more like an annoying itch. Not this time, now it's become personal. The ghostly blue of the screen whispers doubt in his ear; still he cannot pull his gaze away from the monitor on his console. "What is the meaning of this?"

He hears Jack walk up behind him, his steps rumbling around them as he makes his way to the display. Now they are both staring at the image, and it solves nothing. Not that the Doctor really believed that he would, but he had been hoping Jack had all the answers, praying in his own way that maybe, just maybe someone could explain to him what was going on here. Instead, both men now stand confused before their judgment.

"We're at Torchwood One! But… it can't be. Torchwood One was destroyed in battle. I've seen the pictures."

"It wasn't destroyed in battle," the Doctor whispers, "For a day and a half it stood silent without any disturbance while people reunited with their families in the streets of London. All mourning the lossof those who fell."

His palm placed against the cold surface, he feels the warmth the void left behind in its wake, the small ember of heat still left in this world as all feeling and sensibility slowly seeps out of his long fingers and into the now closed abyss, the barrier that he has just lost her to the other side of. But it's not just a wall, it's a metaphor; it's a metaphysical representation of the distance between them.

She isn't waiting on the other side of a wall, no matter how hard he presses his cold body against the indifferent surface. There is no loose connection to bring her back to him, even if he does wait five and a half hours for her. She's on the other side of the void. She's gone from his universe, HER universe. As his fingers slip slowly down the wall, in a final and undeserved caress he realizes he's finally lost her, not to the moment, not to a monster or a devil or gods. He lost her to time and space, to things that are cruel and unchangeable.

He's lost her, and he cannot feel the movement of his feet over the shock that runs through his entire being.

He doesn't look back as he shuffles his feet away, he doesn't have the heart to. Correction, he has always had the spare, but maybe this time, maybe just this once, it won't be enough.

She's gone.

And it's all his fault.

_He makes his way down to where they tied up the TARDIS, holding it in place with chains and magnaclamps. As he makes his way to his ship, he feels the air in his lungs become harder to swallow, the scorching heat of the tears falling down his cheeks, his limbs too heavy to wipe them away. He has to make it to the TARDIS, he has to make it to his turtle shell where he can curl__ up into a little ball away from the world, away from this industrialized hell. Why did he ever come to Earth anyway? It's a boring little planet with nothing but stupid apes who think they are always right. Ignorant, pathetic, ungrateful fools. But sometimes you meet one, one who makes you think that maybe there is more to them than just chips and tellie. _

_That life is better with two. _

_His body continues to struggle on autopilot as he unhooks the clamps that protected his ship from the void. As he opens the doors, he doesn't make it more than two steps up the ramp before crumpling to the floor._

_Where he stays for two days._

"I don't know why we're here." Jack scratches his head and then crosses his arms over his chest. "Could be a transdimensional shift, something pulling us back to safety."

"No," Romana pipes up. "No, not safety. Something worse."

All three look between each other, exchanging looks of weariness and worry. "Well Romana, penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm more interested in hearing more of yours," she inquires, her stare piercing. The Doctor nods, his own thoughts leaning more towards a very scary case of the terrible. If they have been pulled back to this place, to this particular room there is more meaning to it than he's willing to admit. Someone's toying with him now. Whatever is controlling his fate is trying to make it obvious to him that he isn't in control. At first he had just thought someone had been tampering with his memories, but now he's sure.

"If we've been pulled back, and it is the exact same room that it appears to be, then it has to be within forty-eight hours of me losing Rose." He tells her, his own intensity overwhelming.

"What makes you figure?" Jack asks.

"Torchwood Tower was brimming full of workers, busy bees— they were trying to keep the ghost shift on the up and up. Now it stands vacant, so I'm assuming it can't be before."

"And it can't be after." A familiar voice calls out, causing the three onlookers to turn around. Martha stands at the entrance to the console room, her face set in a determined furrow. He feels some of the weight lift from his shoulders at the sight of her, the realization of how much he appreciates her slowly worming it's way through his thick barricades. He smiles at the sight of her, genuine and small as she slowly walks her way towards the trio.

"It can't be after because after the damage of the top floor was assessed they renovated the building. Laboratories line that back wall there," she tells them pointing on the screen into the background. For the first time since she's entered the room she looks up at him, a hesitant look on her face as she does so. "At least they did before another explosion took out a great deal of this floor."

"And how would you know?" Romana asks curiously.

"Because," The Doctor exhales, his voice barely audible as he answers for his companion, "Martha used to work here."

_She sits there, perched in her tower, brushing the length of her hair dressed in leather and lace. She knows she has to finish the story, to continue on, but the pages lay at her desk, daunting and_ _bare. The shape of her prison is suspiciously shaped like a birdcage; her view of the clouds gorgeous, especially when she uses the large swing in the center of the room. The swing that she can perch her feet upon and sit for hours on end._

"_Rose, Rose you have to go on…" A voice whispers to her, it's aerie and light; reminding her of youthful fantasies. _

_Annoyed, she shakes it off, continuing to admire her reflection in the looking glass. Not half bad for a senior citizen. But she wants to be sixteen again, to live in the world where reality and fantasy brink over, to be young enough to still believe, but old enough to be saved by the prince and taken far far away. _

"_Rose, you can't ignore it forever."_

"_I could if you would just go away and leave me be." _

"_It doesn't work that way, and we both know it."_

"_I'm waiting!" she bites out as she slams the brush down on the vanity before glancing up at her reflection in the mirror. She can see Peter standing behind her, his hands in his pockets, a slight tilt to his jaw and it reminds her of him, the one she loves to hate and hates to love._

"_And just what are you waiting for?"_

"_I'm waiting for him to come rescue me."_

_Peter just laughs at her, and she narrows her eyes at the image of him in her mirror. Irritated, she stands in front of his view so she doesn't have to see him._

"_We both know that that's not going to happen."_

_A tremor runs through her as she picks up the brush in her hand and tries to continue with her chore. At least 100 strokes dearie, or it won't be as fine as silk._

"_Whether you wait or not, what is destined to happen will happen. It's only a matter of time. It's up to you to get there." _

"_I've lost my touch, I can't remember how the story ends." She murmurs, tilting her head to the side to watch him again, but he's punishing her now. She gets so lonely up here some days, she forgets to use her manners. But as she frantically moves about her head in search of him, he appears sitting on her swing, a touch of him showing on the other side of her face._

"_You're lying. Not even to me, but yourself. We both know how the story ends." _

_She stares at the boy in the surface. "I do know the ending, I just don't know how to get there, I don't know how to map the road from point A to point B. I don't know how to write it so it makes sense."_

_He laughs at her, the merriment in his voice causing chills to run along her spine, the looking glass breaking in front of her. _

"_Now look what you did." She mumbles, afraid to reach out and touch the jagged fractures. _

"_I think it's a little late to worry about it making sense at this point. Everyone's waiting for the ending."_

_She can't see him anymore. All that is reflected are distorted and ugly versions of her, three in total. Frustrated, she turns to look behind her, to invite him to sit with her for tea while she waits for her prince to come, but he is no longer there._

"_Something wicked this way comes," She giggles. _

Gasping and clawing at life she sits up in her bed. Perspiration pours in rivets down her spin and forehead, knowledge setting her aglow.

She knows now what she must do.

* * *

"Here they come!" Jack warns, his eyes never leaving the span of the screen's blue glow. Romana and Martha look up from what they're doing, wires and metal in hand as the Doctor continues to work furiously into the night, the screwdriver in his mouth his specs falling down his nose.

Both women drop what they're doing to run and watch the wall open on screen, a Glarecox ship crossing through the other side.

"Doctor you may want to come see this," Jack cries out, tinges of hesitance and worry outline his voice.

"A little busy!"

Martha watches as the wall behind shimmers and shakes before solidifying. The ship sits motionless in the middle of the room the hum of its engines can be heard from inside the TARDIS. All occupants sit in relative silence, even the TARDIS keeps still.

All but the Doctor.

"Will you be quiet?!" Martha hisses as she turns back to him.

"Look, I am TRYING to get our power systems back online and running, so that maybe, just maybe we'll be able to deal with that. Until then you can all either help or bloody well leave me be!" He snaps, briefly looking up from the work in his hands.

"But the Glarecox—"

"The assembled hoards of Genghis Khan couldn't get through that door, and believe me, they've tried. Now, shut up a minute," he quips before yelling out in frustration and throwing what he has in his hands down on the ground in exasperation. She makes her way with caution over to where he kneels, his head in his hands, his body racked with heavy breaths.

"What's wrong? Besides the obvious." Martha asks, placing her hand on his shoulder and kneeling beside him.

"It's déjà vu. It's always déjà vu. And if it's not, it's someone toying with me. Things keep happening Martha, I keep revisiting the same moments, the same words. I keep almost realizing something before it drifts off and out of my reach. It's driving me past the breaking point."

She watches him with an intense but empathetic gaze, her arm slipping round his shoulder and her own head resting against his.

"Maybe if we're lucky we'll all die nobly before that happens."

He looks up at her, an exacerbated look etched into his face and she smiles at him, long and slow. She misses these moments with him, the times when it was just them they had to worry about and not a herd of others. She has begun to love the friends that she has made within the last few weeks, but she will always love their time the best.

It would be easier if they went out in a blaze of glory alone. She can't stand the thought of others dying.

As if on cue a large shudder rolls over the doors of the TARDIS causing Martha and the Doctor to look up.

"They have a battering ram." Jack says, turning towards them. He wears a worried expression, one full of doubt.

"No worries."

BAM! Another rumble causes the doors to quake.

"It's not your average battering ram." He cautions, looking back down at the monitor in front of him.

"What are we defining as average in battering rams these days?"

"Not ones that have a temporal shifting device attached to them." Romana informs him. The Doctor drops the sonic screwdriver from his hands and runs to the screen.

"What is a temporal shifting device?" Martha asks, running up behind him.

"The reason why the TARDIS or any Time travel ship has such good shields and defenses is because they essentially use the ability to travel through time to alter time and the offensive ships ability to aim at them. Without that ability to manipulate time, most ships would be more vulnerable." Romana explains.

"For instance one time the Doctor and I were coming head on in an Dalek attack and were shot at with two missiles and the TARDIS came out completely unscathed. But, if the Daleks had been using a temporal time shifter, the TARDIS would not have been able to dodge the missiles."

"But what does that mean? Doctor?"

THUD.

He stands there, never lifting his gaze from the display screen. Martha looks down and watches as Glarecox soldiers pound against his door with the large steel pole, a Glarecox General standing behind them, an alien that looks like what Rose described as the Ouroborus stands to his side. He turns then, swiftly and almost knocks her down. Before she can lose her balance his hands are wrapped around her shoulders, pressing his fingers in tightly.

"It means you run," He tells her, looking deep into her eyes, his own holding a concern and fear that she has never seen from him before. "You run and you hide deep somewhere inside of the TARDIS. The passages are endless. You'll have no trouble finding a place."

He looks up and around at the others in the room. Romana and Jack.

"All of you, someone needs to go find Anais, where ever he is. Someone else needs to go move Peter and the other needs to go help Rose. All of you go. Now."

"Are you out of your mind? There is no way I'm leaving you here to fight off that!" Jack exclaims pointing towards the door.

"I won't leave you, not alone. We go down fighting together." Martha tells him.

"Agreed. I understand your desire to protect Doctor but this is hardly the time to try and manipulate a plan by yourse—"

"ENOUGH!" He interrupts, catching her off guard. All are silent as he looks around at them.

THUD.

"This is my ship and these are my rules and quite frankly it is not a democracy. If those soldiers come through the door, we are in a pile of trouble and that's only when they get through the door. We have other people in this ship to protect and more things to worry about. If you go hide at least I know you're safe and maybe I can convince them I'm alone. Romana, you'll have time to make a better plan and to gather up resources. If you stay here, then… then I can't promise any of us will be safe."

"But what about you?" Martha asks him, her own voice breaking as tears well into her eyes. "What happens to you when they knock down the door."

"I give them an opportunity to surrender."

She half laughs, the tears spilling over at his silliness as she shakes her head at him.

"And what if they don't?"

"Then I fight."

"And if you loose?"

THUD. BAM.

"Then I die," he tells her nonchalantly. "It's not so bad. Besides, you forget I have another three regenerations. Which is more than I can say for you."

She shakes her head, a half sob caught in her throat as he pulls her into a strong embrace.

"That may be true about Martha Doctor, but you're forgetting my predicament." Jack says, his feet apart, his arms crossed.

"Yes, right we all know you're immortal Jack no need to be a show off." The Doctor murmurs rolling his eyes, and Martha smacks his shoulder as they still hug.

"What was that for?!"

"Just because we are all about to die, does not give you the right to act like a git!"

"I'm not leaving you here alone Doctor." Jack tells him, still standing his ground.

THUD BAM.

"So you're immortal, great Jack. You won't die. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe that would be worse? That I don't want you to stay because the thought of you unable to die at their hands makes me sick to my stomach?"

"That won't be necessary." Rose calls from the corridor.

* * *

All eyes turn to her as she stands there, a bag on her back and a rather large weapon in her hand. She can see the surprise in their eyes, the fear and anger that has been occupying this room as the door continues to be hammered upon.

"You have a de-mat gun on this ship?" Romana asks the Doctor in awe and fury.

"Well it's hardly any use without the Great Key now is it?" he quips, pulling away from Martha and walking over to Rose. She stands there waiting for him to approach, for him to yell at her from escaping her confinement, waiting for him to send her away just like has so many times when a monster has hidden under the bed that even he's afraid of.

"How did you get out of the brig?" he asks as he takes the gun from her.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she smiles, the side of her mouth curling up not that different from her wolf counterpart. She pulls the bag from her back and kneels on the ground to empty it.

"It's Nitro nine. I can use this for shock value," he nods towards the de-mat gun in his hand, before kneeling beside her to help unload the canisters, "then really scare them off with that."

"I think you missed the point of my grand entrance."

She stands, as it's obvious he doesn't want her help and she is willing to concede to this wish because she knows she will not concede to his others. He hesitates momentarily before continuing to unload canister after unmarked canister.

He doesn't even have the decency to look up at her.

"I'm not having you stay behind only to get captured and tortured. I don't have what it takes to tell Peter what happened when he wakes up and you're gone."

"That was a low blow." She murmurs, watching intently as he continues to unload the backpack and look for other items. There's rope and a knife in the bag as well, both items he deems useless before continuing. It takes a second, but he looks up at her from his position on the floor, his spectacles still falling off the edge of his nose. Slowly he removes them and places the glasses back in his pocket.

"Whatever it takes to convince you it's not your duty to stay beside me."

"Who said it had anything to do with you?" She tells him before walking away and approaching Romana and Jack.

"I'm ready. I know what I must do now." She tells the older female. Romana stares at her with a mixture of determination and authority before nodding her head in one short curt motion. Romana walks away from her, taking Martha by the arm.

"As much as I wish to deny it, the Doctor is right, it would be more beneficial to everyone if less of us were on the frontline, and more were hidden. Given Rose and Jack's circumstances, I think it be best if you and I search for Anais, as well as warn Fren and move Peter to safety."

Martha looks back at Rose and Jack, before nodding slowly to Romana. Slowly she walks over to Rose and Jack, who now standing side by side to say her goodbyes.

"Be safe." She whispers, taking Rose in her arms and holding her tightly.

"I was about to say the same to you." They hold each other for a long time, both women who started on the wrong foot but understand each other better than most others would be able to. Pulling away, Martha looks up to meet Jack's piercing blue eyes.

"Come here sweetheart," he says, taking her by the hand and holding her strongly. "You know, it never would have worked out between us."

She laughs, visibly wrapping her arms tighter around Jack as he rocks the crying woman back and forth and kissing her forehead. "But I know someone who is. And when this is all over, I'm going to be the one who comes to find you making out in the broom closet."

Martha pulls back and gazes into Jack before kissing him goodbye and walking over to the Doctor who still stands rather nonchalant by the corridor. They face each other for a few moments before she takes his hand in hers.

"The greatest adventure you'll ever have." She murmurs, tracing patterns on the back of it with her thumb. She's unable to meet his eyes and instead focusing on his chest as the tears continue to fall.

"Martha I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"For what? For showing me how everything I could have ever dreamed of and more? Come on now, you're starting to sound like this is the end."

"I don't know if it is or not."

"You never do, and that's the price we pay for the life we lead." They stand still for a few moments, before lifting her gaze to meet his.

"You know, just because I'm not in love with you doesn't mean I don't love you."

He looks into her, past her chocolate brown eyes and along that silken thread that connects their minds. He feels her love for him, a soft downy blanket warm and pliable, and yet brilliant and bold, like static electricity along the fabric on a dark night.

"I know." He tells her smiling, "You know that even though I can't say it, I do too."

She nods, moving in to hug him. They hold each other for what seems like forever, and still it's not enough as they pull away, the banging on the door increasing in fury.

"Martha, I lo—"

"Don't. Just don't." she interrupts, "Sometimes the words unsaid… mean more than the ones we do."

And with that, she runs down the corridor.

"Right. Well, I best be off as well." Romana chimes in before looking back at Rose, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Rose nods, never once looking up at the Doctor. She knows that this will annoy and maybe even anger him but she doesn't care. She's tired of being the writer of this fairytale, she's tired of the plot twists and the turns she's required to make. She's lost all will to finish, and she knows that's a sign to wrap it all up. If that means she may die, she is fully aware of the consequences. She is ready for the next stage.

She watches Romana pass the Doctor, their eyes meet for the briefest if seconds before both look away. If time could speak, which she knows it can, but if she were willing to tell a good story, she would love to know how deep Romana's and the Doctor's roots ran. But time is a funny thing and she knows she has little left, little left to worry or care about what is going on in other's lives.

Right now she has two to save.

"Right, if you're forcing me to keep you, I might as well teach you how to use this."

"Like I said before, I'm not here to stay with you Doctor, I'm here to fix something I should have a long time ago."

He tilts his head at her, a pout forming on his usually cheerful lips. She can sense his curiosity and disappointment.

It's a shame she doesn't really care right now.

She turns to Jack beside her and takes his hands. They're old and worn down just like her own and it makes her shudder to touch them, to feel the power pulsating between the two of them, the power of immortality that they both share with respect and hate.

"It's time to do what I should have done a long time ago, and that's let go."

Jack looks at her with eyes of blue. They do not fill with understanding or curiosity, they do not shine with knowledge or doubt. Those eyes stay vacant with a neutrality that she can relate to and one which breaks her heart. She sees herself in the reflection of them and wonders how many deaths have been reflected in the darkest shadows of his eyes. How many sorrows and losses have occurred, how many times he tried to die and wasn't granted the ability.

"Just what do you plan on doing?" the Doctor asks, discomfort faintly hidden in the most remote regions of his voice.

"I'm going to open the heart of the TARDIS."

* * *

He lets the information and words that have just left her mouth sit for a moment before he realizes just what she has said.

"What?" he asks, and he feels like a bit of a git for having to resort to crude and completely baffled behavior.

But she doesn't repeat herself, instead he watches as she continues to stare deeply into Jack, and Jack returning the same powerful gaze. If this was not the women he loved, the woman who he fought to get back then he would have assumed that the power between them was love unlike any other, one that no one could ever understand or match, let alone surpass. But as he watches the two he realizes the depths of their connection and just how blessed he's been to have them both in his life. He knows he's been hard on Jack in the past, even gone as far as to blatantly tell him that he was untrustworthy and not worth his time, but he knows now that it was never the truth. He kept Jack around for more reasons than just because Rose wanted him to stay, but because he cared for Jack.

He watches as Rose lets Jack's hands go and runs her own against the TARDIS console.

"What are you doing?" The Doctor asks her nervously watching as she strokes his ship and whispers to her. But Rose ignores him, instead she continues to do what he had just observed, she continues to stroke and rub the console whispering to the ship. The sound of her voice drowned out by the constant pounding against the TARDIS door. Walking over to her he takes her hands in his own and pulls her away.

"Please don't do this." He whispers, no longer aware of the fear and desperation in his voice.

"I have to, you have to let go." She tells him, and he can see the determination set in her brown orbs. There are no tears, only hope there and he hopes it's enough to make him believe.

"Don't you think that this is happening all just a little too fast? Like we're being rushed through all these decisions? What happened to thinking about things before we do them."

"Having the Glarecox pounding down your door has a tendency to speed up the decision making process."

"I don't think you remember what happened the last time you did this. No good could ever come of this. I think you should try Romana's idea, we can go back and get her."

"Doctor this was Romana's idea," Rose tells him, letting her hands slip out of his grasp and fall to her sides. He stands there in front of her, and he knows he's sounding like a child but he can't watch her do this again, he can't be that helpless once more.

"She talked you into this, I knew she wasn't worth trusting. There has to be another—"

"Shh…" She places a finger against his lips and he quiets under the touch. Without blinking, the tear falls. He wants to make an attempt to brush it away, to make a joke to play the show of it down. But he stays, his body frozen against the press of her finger against his lips.

"I'm telling you only because I need you to promise to stay out of this. I need to know I'm not going to have to take care of you."

"Take care of me." He laughs almost incredulously.

"I killed you once, I don't want to do it again." She whispers, pressing her lips where her warm finger had once rested. The kiss is neither deep nor passionate. It's a union, a calm and respectful joining that he misses as soon as it's broken.

He watches her walk away from him, stares as she goes back towards the console and begins to stroke and continue her attempts like she was doing before.

He's about to tell her to stop, that it isn't going to work. He's about to tell her that the process is futile and demand she leave the console room when all of a sudden, a bright light hits his eyes causing him to stagger back and sink to his knees.

When his eyes finally adjust she's there, brilliant and gold, her skin shining from somewhere within. He feels the urge to break eye contact and look to Jack but he simply can't look away at the sight before him. Her hair flutters behind her, lit up like the sky. She is fire and fury, beauty and time.

She is terrifying.

He watches as she steps closer to Jack, the awe on his face the Doctor is sure is a replica of his own. He continues to stare as Jack stands his ground as the ethereal Rose reaches out to touch him, to pull him to her.

"I'm sorry, so sorry." She says, the intone of her voice is harmonious and dulcet. Jack falls into the embrace, the glow surrounding her engulfing him as she holds him tightly to her body. As they pull back to look into each others eyes Rose has final words.

"This was how it had to be, this was our destiny. But we have fulfilled our role. We are free."

She kisses him then, slow and long. He watches as the glow grows brighter with their union, a union at this moment he feels so familiar with. It's felt like warm honey being poured over their flesh, the kiss tasting of Carmel and stars. It had been different lips then, different hands that held her face, and it had been a simple and sweet connection. But he no longer denies to himself the pleasure he felt as she pressed herself against him, as he heard her sigh underneath the song that thrummed through them both.

The radiance that glows in front of him burns in his eyes, but it's not jealousy that makes him stay on his knees before them. It's the heart wrenching beauty of it. To see them join in a sacredness that he has once experienced, to see from the outside what no other has ever witnessed impacts him more then he has ever expected.

Slowly the glow leaves Jack and he falls unconscious away from the kiss, Rose still radiant before him.

"I have finally come to full power. It has been so long, and yet so little time since our last encounter, Doctor."

He nods, unable to answer in any other way. She smiles and nods as well, the tears streaming down her face not unlike their last rendezvous.

"I have one last task to accomplish. I wanted to say goodbye."

They share a quiet moment, no words shared as she continues to blaze on before him. He doesn't have to warn her, because she, he, whatever it is in front of him, already knows. He is finally aware that the safety of the one he loves most dearly has finally been fulfilled, that it had been compromised every time he's tried to talk her out of this endeavor.

Slowly she exhales, the glow dancing around the room, caressing his cheek and lips, circling around the Console before entering her again.

It's just as the last of the energy is being breathed out, the Glarecox burst through the door.

And then all he can hear is the General calling for his men to open fire.

* * *

When he regains consciousness for the first few moments he can't remember why or how he ended up on the floor, but he does know that he is in extreme danger. Slowly he opens his eyes, cautiously, in hopes to get an idea of what's going on around him— the yelling and confused unruliness. Upon further observation he finds that it's only been a few minutes since they broke in, that they still have a chance to overpower the intruders.

He begins reaching for his sonic screwdriver just inches out of his way on the floor, before he's picked up by his hair. Groaning in pain he's forced to his knees, his eyes still blurry as the smoke clears.

"Causalities?" one of his captors grunts to his partner.

"One. A human male on the floor." The other replies.

**_Rose…_** He calls out with his mind.

**_Rose are you there? _**But there is no response, He sees her picked up off the floor in the same manner only a few feet away from Jack's motionless body. She screams out in pain, her hands tied behind her back not unlike his own, as the Glarecox tell her to shut up. When her eyes focus, they finally make contact, but he cannot feel Rose's thread any longer, he cannot sense her presence.

"Doctor, Doctor it worked!" she calls out rather euphorically, as if she's completely unaware of the situation going on around her.

"I said shut up!" says a Glarecox soldier, butting the end of the gun against her cheek. He can hear a sickening crunch, teeth being knocked out, blood pouring out of her mouth.

"We're human again." She giggles, the blood running down her chin and onto her shirt, "I fixed Jack and now he's mortal!"

"He's dead Rose." The Doctor calls out, looking at the lifeless body behind her. He hears the sound of the warrior behind him swinging his weapon through the air before it crashes against the back of his head. Pain shoots out like a web centering at the point of contact and spreading like wildfire down his skull. He watches as Rose tries to turn to look behind her as the Glarecox soldiers continue talking about a search through the ship for other hostages.

She stares for a long moment, the look on her face unreadable before she turns back.

"Are you the Time Lord known as 'The Doctor?" one of their hideous captors asks.

"I didn't realize this was capture by invitation." His voice croaks out.

"Answer the question inferior one or we kill the human female." The other solider orders.

"How do you know she's a human female hmm? What is she is the Doctor you are looking for?" he inquires, trying to buy them time.

"Stupidity. We do not have time for this. Kill them both and if one regenerates we know they are a Time Lord."

"Alright, you've got me. I do admire your reasoning skills, very quick and too the point. Maybe you should give motivational speeches. Truth is I have no idea who you are talking about. Doctor? Doctor Who?"

Both soldiers look at each other before nodding and lifting their weapons to aim and take fire.

"Okay yes, I am the Doctor."

The weapons lower for the briefest of moments, both soldiers moving to stand around him to pick him up off the floor. He has saved her, although she bleeds and cries silently on the floor, He did what he had to do. He watches as both captors nod before turning towards her and lifting their weapons.

"What are you doing? I said I'm the Doctor I'M THE DOCTOR!"

Its as if his screams fall on deaf ears as laser-like hums ring out around the TARDIS, Rose's screams mingling in with the sound. He watches in horror as her body crumples to the floor lifelessly her eyes vacant and lost.

"Orders are to bring back the Doctor. All others will perish at the mighty hand of the Glarecox."

He feels his knees give out, both soldiers holding him steady as he vomits onto the console floor. More Glarecox soldiers enter through his front door, tall and proud of themselves as they approach the two holding him steady.

"Find anyone else on this ship, and kill them." The soldiers order as the Doctor continues to stare in disbelief at the sight before him. Dead. Both dead. Jack and Rose. Just like that terrible movie. What had he done?

"This isn't over, you could have had me come peacefully, humor you even. But now, now you have no idea the can of worms you've opened," he tells them with a lethal calmness that only occurs very rarely. He watches as they look back and forth at each other. "I have nothing left to live for, and that makes me the most dangerous creature in the universe. You should be prepared—"

"We said shut up!" one of them screams, smashing the gun once more against his skull.

And the world around him goes black.

"Arise dear Doctor, your fate awaits you."

The sound of the voice is soothing at best, and if he didn't remember almost instantly what had happened before the darkness had swallowed him whole, he probably would have allowed it to wrap around his aching skull and heal his wounds.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you." He answers, lifting his head to meet the eyes of the being that is waking him. A Glarecox general stands beside his crumpled form, at attention of the snake-like alien stands above and in front of him. Rose had been right; the phony Ouroborus did look as though they belonged. Reptilian in nature, the slits they used for a nose never flared and the thin mouth of the being before him curved into a peaceful smile. They are surrounded by the whitewashed walls of the main floor of Torchwood. The last place he wants to be at the moment. He's almost sure he knows why they had brought him here now. It was psychological abuse meant to confuse him and put him off his game.

And it worked.

"We all have fates Doctor and I can, as so many humans I have encountered like to say, sleep at night with the choices I have made. Can the same be said for yourself?"

"Just because you can sleep at night committing many crimes against humanity and other species does not mean that you're justified. It just means you are without compassion."

"Compassion? Was it compassion that rescued my brothers when your kind killed them painfully? Brutally? You don't believe that I am Ouroborus, but you are sadly mistaken. This is what an angel who has fallen out of the grace of its God will look like. "

"You talk of Gods and angels, devils and daemons. Every civilization has similar beliefs; you are not the only race to fear justice and worship purity. My own race revered the Ouroborus, when did—"

"When you went to war with the Daleks! When your narrow focus grew even narrower in pride and honor. Tell me, did you even try to negotiate with them? Or did you decide right away that a universal war was the right answer?"

"You have to be kidding. You're blaming the Time Lords for the war? Do you seem to forget that the Daleks were killing species without mercy or discrimination? They would have killed your species on the spot! You were a peaceful race, just more fodder for the cannon!"

"That's what you think. But they were the ones to rescue us— what was left anyways. You used bombs that wiped out solar systems, justifying the means by the end. You were the ones who turned our great and noble race into the wretched creatures we now are. You never did answer the question Doctor, how well do you sleep at night?"

"Enough." The Glarecox General interrupts. "Our leader wants to speak with the forsaken."

The Ouroborus does not look too happy with the interruption of his interrogation but he nods in agreement before stepping away from the Doctor who still kneels on the floor.

"Tell me General, did you find the others?" The Ouroborus asks curiously.

"What others?" The Doctor inquires with a nonchalantness that he hopes saves his other companions.

"Don't play stupid with us Time Lord. We knew of the others before we pulled you back to this intersection of time. There were three time lords and humans with you."

He's about to play it down, pretend he doesn't know what the Ouroborus is talking about when the Glarecox speaks up.

"Confirmed. All others have been executed. Including two Time Lords, a human and an unidentified."

He feels the world go fuzzy around him. Dead, all dead except for one. It's the only thing that keeps him centered on that tightrope he's about to fall off of. Who could have survived, was it Romana? Did she make it out? Why? Had she sold them all out to save her own skin? His mind races over these questions as he sees Anais step into his peripheral vision.

"He was a half Time Lord, half human Your Grace."

"You little… you sold us all out. All the damage, all the mystery, you set it up!" The Doctor says trying to get up from his spot on the ground. Anais refuses to look at him, and the Time Lord can feel the younger one's discomfort at his overwhelming anger.

"You are a disgrace, you killed your own kind! You murderer! And the innocent ones, Martha, Peter, Jack, Ro—"

"You have no place commenting on murder, Doctor." Anais interrupts quietly, meeting his eyes coldly, "Or as you seem to often forget you are a legendary example that our own kind uses as one."

He keeps his mouth shut then, the fury and rage welling within him, his hate and disgust unleashable. He feels it burble and multiply starting in his chest and seething through his body at a rapid pace. They throw the word around so shamelessly he feels no negative response to it anymore. He knows his rage would be considered murderous.

"Take me to your leader." He tells them, the ones that stand before him, and they all look at each other suspiciously before the Glarecox General takes him by the elbow and turns him around to lead him back inside the TARDIS. As he makes his way in the doors he looks around for who's been controlling the Glarecox and Ouroborus, and he crumples once more at what he sees.

It's Dalek Sek.

"DOCTOR. WE FINALLY HAVE YOU. WE HAVE FINALLY REACHED OUR GLORY."

"No… No, no it can't be. I pulled you all into the void. You're supposed to be dead! You're all supposed to be dead!" he screams, unable to come to terms with the metal force in front of him.

"I AM A DALEK, THE SUPERIOR RACE. I SURVIVED YOUR FUTILE ATTEMPT AT MY DEMISE."

"Why do all of this, lead me on this wild goose chase?"

"YOU KILLED MY BROTHER DALEKS. YOU DESTROYED THE CULT OF SKARO. YOU MUST BE EXTERMINATED!!!"

"But why here? Why now?! What made you decide to force me back to Earth, why not kill me quickly? It's unlike Daleks to put this much time and effort into planning one person's death."

"I WANTED TO SHOW YOU. SHOW YOU WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO HAVE EVERYTHING TAKEN AWAY FROM YOU. YOU WERE AT THE FALL OF ARCADIA. YOU WATCHED THE INFERIOR HUMANS BE EXTERMINATED BY THE ALMIGHTY DALEK RACE. I WANTED YOU TO WATCH AS WE FINALLY EXTERMINATED ALL HUMAN LIFE."

"But why humans! They are nothing in the grand scheme of things! They have no defenses, no idea what you are. They were completely oblivious to the war in most respects, Earth never knowing what was happening in the other colonies."

"BECAUSE YOU LOVE THEM. BECAUSE YOU CONSIDER THEM IMPORTANT. THE INFERIOR ONES. BECAUSE WE KNOW IT WILL HURT YOU TO SEE THEM DIE. THAT IS WHY. EARTH WILL BE INVADED AND THE DALEKS WILL EXTERMINATE THEM ALL!"

"You killed Rose, you killed my friends and family because you knew that it would hurt me. You've kept me alive so that I know you killed them all, and now you're going to kill the human race to hurt me even more. This is a new side Dalek extremism I've never seen before." The Doctor replies, his entire body feeling numb.

"THIS WAS THE GREAT DALEK PLAN. THE HUMAN YOU CALL ROSE WAS A DIVERSION TO BRING YOU TO US. AND NOW WHEN WE CAN FINALLY EXTERMINATE YOU, THE TIME LORDS WILL NO LONGER EXIST."

He's about to tell them that that's where they're wrong. That there is another Gallifrey out there, that the Time Lords did survive, but the little block in his mind stops him, and not because it's telling him he needs to protect those few who still remain. He shakes his head, his brow wrinkling in concentration at the thought.

Time Lords… They survived. It's like a broken record on repeat, all little ideas that are eating away at him and causing him confusion. The déjà vu in his mind, the thing that keeps making him come back to this place keeps trying to sooth him, but it's finally willing to give way so he can see the truth.

The Time Lords could not have survived on a different world, they existed on a hub of all universes, where they could all travel freely between dimensions. But if that were true then how did Peter exist, how could Rose have met a Doctor named William? Why hadn't he shown up in all of this madness, how could he have not felt other Time Lords. How could the TARDIS flown through the void without harm and him noticing? How could he have slept so much through these things? So many different things, so many inconsistencies, so many plot holes, so many lies to cover up more lies. Why, why was this happening? How did he manage to make it back here? How could have Jack been confused by who…

No… no too many of what has happened doesn't make sense. There are too many questions left unanswered, too many holes in this poorly written story that is his destiny. It's like everything has finally come into focus, and he sees that the painting is not as beautiful and tranquil as he remembered, but that there are flaws in every line, every curve. The colors are too brilliant, everything seems too forced.

He stands up against his guards, surprisingly feeling spry again. Dalek Sek nor the Glarecox stop him from his attempt to move. Where are their bodies? Jack, Rose, they're gone. Why would they move the bodies?

He hears singing, it's beautiful and euphonious, a sound that he remembers from quite some time ago.

Drawn, he follows the sound out the TARDIS door.

It's then he sees her.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

_This is it... There's still an epilogue to come, but I can't promise instant upload-le? hmmm... I can't promise it soon. I want to thank my readers for all their support, and everyone else out there. I promise I'll have a better author's note with the eppy!_

_

* * *

_

_And they lived happily ever after…_

He can't see.

All that fills his eyes is a bright colorless light that no human could manage to gaze into. It's as if a star fills the room, radiating heat and energy before him, and he has to lift his hand to cover his face.

It's as though someone reads his thoughts, and the intensity of the brilliance fades, leaving him to finally see what he had been so sure he had dreamed a few moments earlier.

Rose.

She's brilliant and on fire, surreal and majestic. The glow that radiates from her fills him to the brim with warmth and a calm that he's never experienced. A wind whips around her, her fire-red locks flowing, her body shrouded with a long white garment. The singing continues as he steps closer, unable to understand how this has all come to fruition.

"Who…" He starts, but how does he continue? It's Rose, his Rose. She stands before him, no hint or sign of her previous broken jaw, no bruises or blood.

The blood that dripped down the needle and thread.

But she is no Snow White after all.

He gazes into her burning glow, the one that encompasses his low self-worth and loathing, the heat that finally warms the numbness he feels in his hearts. She is cauterizing a wound so fatal he had already given up hope of it ever closing. He licks his lips, the taste on them is sugar and spice, sweet and wonderful.

"Who are you?"

There is no punishment for the question, no backlash. It's the backlash that he has gotten used to. It never did take him long to learn that once you start asking questions, you start opening yourself up to getting hurt. Whether it is with enemies, or with companions, it never really mattered who delivered the blow, it usually all started with a simple inquiry. _What is going on here? What is your name? Will you come with me? Will you let me show you the universe?_

Did I mention it travels in time?

At the mention of the word the radiance flickers like a tongue against him, only not as sensual. His angst is being devoured in the mouth of the power, until he may never be given the opportunity to draw away from someone again. If he wasn't so comfortable right now, he'd be more worried about this new development.

Her mouth opens, a mouth that looks so wonderful and tender, one that he wants to press his own lips to in desperation, in sheer gentle contact. He wonders if the closer he gets to her the warmer he will become.

"I am everything and I am nothing. I am every universe, every atom of life and death. I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I am Time."

Usually in situations like this, when any entity or deity confesses something to him that doesn't fit within his concepts, he would call them out, tell them no, that it was impossible. But the devil never reached out and held his tiny hearts in his hand, he never whispered through his soul and mind, creating an inner peace or even turmoil.

"Which is it then?" he asks, but the cocky edge he had wished to end on never makes it into his tone. Instead the words fall out with compassion and awe at the sight of her.

"There is no one without the other. Both are one and the same."

"And Rose?"

"Used to join us in the trinity. But now she has surpassed her role and become a vessel herself. This body is the empty shell in which we use to make contact."

"Trinity, isn't that somewhat religious in context?"

"Now now, my Doctor. My little Lord. Stray from lies and pretenses of naivety. I know that you are aware that the power of three has always held power in my realm."

"And what fair Lady, is your realm?"

"You pretend to seek answers by asking the questions, but you do not listen to the message in response. Even now you must not deny the truth, if ever there be a-and forgive the pun-time."

He stands there dumbfounded by her, his essence being controlled as the wind dances through her bright red locks and golden light kisses her skin like glitter. It is as he stands there before her in all her power, that he hears the familiar tinkling of laughter that has echoed through his mind all this time.

He breaks his gaze to follow the aerie music only to find a young girl, ginger and bright, giggling at him a small distance away from the brilliance before him. As she skips towards the goddess, he breathes in the scent of her youth, gazes at the flawlessness of her freckled skin, and the shine in her bright orbs. Tears well in his eyes at the intense purity of the small child.

"And who might this be?" He inquires, again a question that he has always known the answer to, but has been blocked from his mind from the very beginning. He makes a quick mental note that he must ask her about that as well.

"She is a manifestation of the Lonely God and the Bad Wolf. She is their love. She is their union."

"She's ginger." And at that he feels the like tickle of the breeze change against him, a small laughter in the air, humoring him.

"You created her in your image. Molded her to be what you want. Conceived her in a passionate rage, and loved her in another lifetime. She is a part of your soul."

Again he finds it all too powerful to take seriously, too real to believe. He tries to distance himself from this overwhelming peace and comfort, tries to dig within himself to find the grief and angst that has always kept him grounded. He's always been a tortured soul, first as a choice, then as a title, one that he no longer cared for and wished to throw away from him. The Doctor and Death were synonymous with each other.

That had never been a choice.

Until now.

He stares at the girl, looks deep within her eyes and past the fair skin and hair, the smile and honesty to find a flaw. He looks within to know a truth, to expose the goddess Time as a hack, a fraud, and charlatan and any other nasty word he can think of in his haze of wonderment. It occurs to him more then the once in his intense focus that maybe it wouldn't be so terrible if she was a hoax, that if maybe he believed hard enough that he could understand why he's been looking for something he's known to never really exist, he's been running from himself all these years. What would be so wrong with him finally knowing who he is, remembering the name that was stripped from him over centuries ago?

"She's just the girl in the market place. Nothing more. You stole an image from my memories, and are using it against me."

"Is she? Are you so sure she was even there? A thousand faces in one second, an image stored in a vault with a million others. Coincidences are purely brains and souls trying to rationalize my mistakes, my ripples-"

"Can you please stop talking about yourself as Time." He interrupts, the first spark of his own emotion coming back to him. He watches as she wrap her hands protectively around the girl's shoulders, holding the young one close to her body, the child obviously curious about him as she stares at him knowingly.

"You would rather I talk about myself in third person? Pretend to be something I am not?"

"I would rather you stop waxing poetic and get to the point as to why I am here, why you have done all of this, lying and hiding all the betrayal and pain."

She laughs at him, and this time the tinkling in her throat matches the wind's breath against his skin, the body before him convulsing and making the force surge and recede over him.

"Foolish Lord, you are so eager to fling words and insults in ignorance that you choose to rest on your own shoulders. I was never the one to hide any information from you, that was a task you took on yourself."

He listens to the words that flow from her for a moment, before shaking his head eagerly. That would never make sense, he would never hide the truth from himself, never pretend that everything is okay long enough to believe it.

"You expect me to believe that I hid from myself the fact that Time Lords never existed in separate universes, that I slept through all your path changes, that I was able to believe that Romana confused Jack, when he would have only gone off in the Police Box?"

"Where is your psychic paper Doctor?" She interrupts, still no evidence of anger or frustration with his antics lingers on the words. She seems to be patient with him, as though she really were Time.

"It's right here in my…" he says, searching for the slip of paper that he carried around with him in all instances. But as he searches, confusion swarms him as he finds it is missing.

"Rose had it. She always did. You left it in your coat pocket and she used it trying to break into the Sphere room at Torchwood. In the excitement she never remembered to return it to you."

"That doesn't make sen-"

"How did you meet Martha?"

"She was working at Torchwood, a student trying to get her doctorate, something-

"Wrong."

And as she says that, a bright vibrant memory of Martha walking down the street hits him, how he removed his tie, how he had kissed her to fool the Judoon, how she had saved his life when he had been willing to stay down and in his misery.

"What…" he starts, realizing he's kneeling on the floor. The warmth lifts him to his feet, the weight on his shoulders feeling even lighter.

"Why did you end up giving Martha a fair chance as your companion?"

"Because she lost a friend, and it was about the same time I told her how she had lost her cousin and we had a fight…"

_"He's not coming back to you, you know," he tells her bitterly._

She turns and looks at him with blank eyes. "Neither is she." she replies in a calm voice.

"Wrong."

_He sits there awake, while Martha slumbers quietly beside him. The night had been a long one, one that involved sending Carrionites back through the portal. He had wanted to leave almost right away, but the girl beside him had needed to rest, needed to collapse onto a bed for a few hours after all her energy had been drained from her._

Not with Rose, they would have been gone in a heartbeat.

Sighing, he gets up from the bed, slowly exiting the room, never once looking back to see if Martha felt his departure. He stalks down the hall, light as a feather but burdened with memory and doubt. He's completely immersed in his own thoughts when a door to his left opens, waking him out of his reverie.

"William, I apologize. Did I wake you?"

"How could one sleep after tonight's events?" is the reply, light and charming. But the Doctor continues to stare, his cheery mask does not seem to fool the brilliant human, and so he doesn't insult him by donning it.

"May I ask Doctor, why you, with a beautiful woman and the power to expell witches wander the night so forlorn?"

He sighs, looking back towards his room before meeting William's eyes.

"Beauty has little to do with it. I feel that I'm replacing one for the other."

"A beautiful woman for another beautiful woman?"

But he stays quiet against the question, afraid to open up to this charming linguist. Afraid he may just use the right words to cast his daemons away and make them long forgotten, and he has grown attached.

"Just remember friend, A Rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Shakespeare says, the Doctor looking up at him in shock, before the bard strokes his beard and looks away. "You must be a muse sir, for I fear I shall have to use that one as well."

His body rages, as a strangled scream rips from his throat.

Mind over matter after all.

His hearts beat raucously against his ribcage, sweat lining his brow. The warmth is no longer comfortable, but instead burning him, biting at his exterior, slowly damaging it in it's intensity.

"Say I believe you, say that you are Time, and I did hide from myself, why the false memories? Why choose this particular path?"

"One possibility out of an infinite stream of others. You know me so well my little Lord, know me from end to beginning. All there is, was and ever could be."

"Why would I distort my own memories? Why go through all the trouble?"

"Why does any being with the capability to feel do anything?"

"I got too close," he murmurs, "when I lost her I lost a piece of myself. But still… I had lost her, even in my false memories I still lost her. Why go through all that troub-"

"Little Lord, you are not this ignorant. I feel as though you wish me to spell a word out for you that you have known for centuries." She sighs, waiting for the light to go on in his eyes, the understanding to come shining through.

Instead those orbs stay ever cautious and naïve.

"All right. If I must: You chose this path of memories because it was easier to believe you could not come back for Rose, you chose this because it was easier to believe that Martha could just read your thoughts instead of you being able to open up to her willingly after your loss. You chose to walk away because it is what you will always do, it is all you know and this time, just this once, it broke something inside of you to have to do so."

"No, you lie, why would I come back then? I've search through alternate universes to find h-"

"All coincidence, if I had been trapped in anyone else you would have found your way to them. Rose was merely the vessel." She interrupts.

"But… we share pieces of each other's soul."

"Has that ever stopped you from leaving before?"

A quietness falls between them, the song still ringing in his ears, the child's still curious eyes falling on him, still knowing his soul inside and out in those large brown orbs. This is to be his daughter, this child is to be his offspring. A child conceived in a passionate rage. Rose had been pregnant when she died. It makes his body go cold against the warmth beating against him.

"Why did you bring me here, to Torchwood. Of all places?"

"Because it is integral. It is a moment in time that had to happen in all instances. It is a key instant that there was no other option to stop it from happening. In almost every case you two lost each other at this building. In this moment."

"So you admit that you can loop back over onto yourself?"

"Of course, I do not deny my unpredictability. I know how ruthless and without care I can seem." She whispers to him, bursts of wonderful scents invade his thoughts causing confusion and disorientation. If he conceived with Rose, and the events that had occurred in his life never took place, then he wonders about Rose's past.

"Simple. The same situation as you. While waiting I had to continue on in a tangent and impossible universe. I created it just to keep her sane while I waited for you to come back. I was trapped in her body, a huge part of myself lost to human emotion and life. I gave her immortality, and in return she gave Jack the same. Other than that, most of what happened to Rose was fabricated."

"You mean, Peter never existed to her?"

"So straight forward, so narrow minded. Is it so hard to believe that Peter existed without you being there to bring him into this world? Peter's soul was the same as hers," she says, gesturing down to the girl in her arms. "I sent her in good faith to watch over Rose."

"How can you send someone if you are trapped in Rose's body, you make no sense!"

"I am all there is, all there was and could be. Yes I was trapped in Rose, an entity contained in a physical body. I knew my future, your future, Rose's future. I know all. There are no paradoxes with me. I am capable of manipulation so large in scale."

"So Martha never had any psychic abilities?"

The goddess Rose in front of him shakes her head sadly, a look of deep regret in her eyes. "You told Martha about yourself of your own accord, not my interference. She was always your choice. For you could have gone another route to win Rose back in the moments left at Torchwood."

"And just how, how would I do that? How could I ever have done that?" The accusation of the words causing another pulsation in the brilliance that surrounds them, cradles him like an infant child. It's too much, to wonderful to allow for, and so he fights it.

"Where there was a will, there is a way. You know this more then anyone. Statistically speaking there were over a dozen different possibilities in which you could have return to her without my meddling, you chose to move on."

"How can you say that? When you must have known I have never stopped thinking of her."

"You have no reason to lie to me or yourself anymore little Lord. Rose can no longer hear you, no longer be hurt by your abandonment. It means nothing to me either way whether you returned to her or not."

"How can you say that from her dead lips? How can you use her like a marionette and have no regard for her soul?" At the mention of lips he licks his own, the sight of hers daunting and plump, jading his own anger and sorrow over the loss of the ones he's loved so dear. Whatever power the being in front of him has, it's more then he is used to, more then he can bear.

"I know her soul very well, we shared facilities for quite some time. She loves you with all her heart, and was more then willing to give her life for this moment."

"And what moment would that be?"

"Why, your defining moment."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Its meaning lies in the answer to a future question, one that will explain all."

"And that question is?"

"All in due time." She murmurs, the child kneeling at the hem of her robes.

"So you won't tell me?"

"Your reputation for impatience precedes you."

"What happened to the Dalek and the Glarecox?" He asks, changing the question in hopes of being able to keep the conversation going. He has no idea what will happen when it does, since it's obvious that the being in front of him is the one in control of the situation, and every time he stops speaking he thinks of her beautiful hair and lips, the shine of her skin, the warmth that makes him feel like he's sinking in quicksand. The child at her feet that is his daughter.

"All defeated. All puppets. I rid this existence of them as I rid you of them at Satellite Five."

"Deus ex machina." He whispers, not intending for her to hear.

"There you go again about religion. The question is how can I be able to untangle a plot so thick if I hadn't orchestrated it from the very beginning? There are no tangles, all that has happened with the threads of time has been of my own free will."

"What am I suppose to say?"

"Whatever is in your hearts."

He thinks about this for a moment, feeling deep down inside himself wondering what there is left to ask, what there isleft to say, and the question is so simple, almost as simple as the face of Boe's message, which he now remembers. There is something else, a Dalek, another Time Lord, his title almost as daunting as his own. But if he is to believe her, to completely give up his reigns he knows now that it doesn't even matter what has happened, what is happening now is what he has to focus on.

"Why?"

She smiles and nods her head in recognition of the question, and at that moment he realizes it's the one she's been waiting for from the very beginning. Three letters, one word. The powerful ones are always simple though.

"Because. Because I want to. Because when we mingled you left your impression upon me. Because I want to give you what you've always wanted. A way to change things. A way to go back and make it all right."

"I was once offered that by the Krillitane once. They had almost solved the Skasis Paradigm. I could have been a god then, could have altered history and time. What makes you think I won't turn away from the offer again?"

"Because the Krillitane offered you the title. Made it sound like you would have to maintain a balance, that you would constantly be in control. I offer you one opportunity to make things right. I will never burden you with the full knowledge or pain. I would never force you to keep it all to yourself. Do you really think that I would allow the Krillitane to break the Skasis Paradigm? Please little Lord, you think so little of me."

"Please stop calling me that."

She grins once more, the tilt of her head showing respect and understanding. She will not call him little Lord again, even if he is one in comparison to her brilliance.

"The question still stands, just what is it you want Doctor? What, in all of time and history, do you wish you could change? There are no consequences, no repercussions, no monster or evil to stand in your way. It is only you and I here, no tricks. No limitations. Create the universe the way you wish it to be, and then so it shall be. And forevermore with me by your side."

"How can you be so sure? How can you know I won't screw it all up? How can you just assume that I want to make the universe better, or different then how it is? Why did you pick me?" The desperation in his voice overpowers the sickeningly soft vibrations and power of the room, tainting it.

"Because we love you. Rose, the Bad Wolf and I. We always have."

"You're not capable of love."

"So quick to assume. The longer I was left in her body, the more I was capable of human affections. I have always loved you, always and never, the realization began once stuck as a human. At first it was only my intentions to return you to release me from my prison. But then centuries went by, and I knew there was more to your return then just the release of a small fraction of my expansive entity. I have love for you Doctor. That is why I sent our daughter to find you and bring you back to us. I knew she was a product of you. Knew that I had to send for you because you chose not to come back. You strayed from the path, but you still made it."

Sighing, the tears roll down his cheeks, the last of the fight that was left in him gone. He approaches the two, slowly but surely before kneeling down to the child at the hems of the dress.

"I saw you in the market, pushed you on that swing in the meadows."

"It was never my intention to fool you, but instead to lead you into the light that could make you see." She tells him, a small smile playing across her delicate features.

"You're ginger, but are you rude?" He murmurs, more to himself then the child before him. She stands from where she had been playing, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her nose into the crack between his neck and shoulder. He presses her to himself, absorbing her into his body, the love he has for her, the realization that he is not alone, that he has a child now, hitting him in his core.

He stands to face the goddess now, a child no longer wandering at their feet. They are finally alone. No inhibitions, no consequences, no one else but time and space.

"I can have anything, anything I want?" he asks her cautiously, so close to her that he can breathe her in, the weight of her presence pushing against his chest although they have yet to touch.

"Yes." She softly tells him, the gaze of her eyes a desperate longing that he find himself falling undone under.

"I want everyone alive and safe. All of them, from the Time Lords to Martha and Jack."

"It is done."

He looks around, his first instinct is to try and find them, to see if this can all be real, if this could possibly be true. His eyes stay lingering on the TARDIS doors when she interrupts his thoughts.

"Martha will be sleeping in her quarters, Jack returned to the earth he once knew. Remember, many things that have occurred in your universe and time stream have not really occurred, and therefore I am returning everything to the state that it should be."

He nods, turning to meet her eye again. "And the Time Lords? What about Gallifrey? The Citadel? The Daleks?"

"The Daleks are gone now, none could possibly exist within me. I have purged them from my existence, so they shall never trouble you again. Gallifrey burns brightly to the north, you shall be pleased to see that it's autumn this time of year, the silver leaves are turning gold before falling. Romana, Romana will be expecting you."

Sobs escape his lips as he looks up to the roof of the Torchwood building, tears flow freely down his cheeks.

"And lastly, I want Rose."

The quietness surrounds them too thick and hollow to bear. He feels a thread of worry at her pause.

"I'm sorry my Doctor, it is the one thing I cannot give you."

"Bullocks! I knew that you weren't completely all powerful. I knew you couldn't give me everything I've ever wanted."

"If I were to give you Rose, I would be vanquished from this body. I would no longer be capable of maintaining the universe that you have created, you'd be left to fend for yourself."

"That I can live with, but I want Rose. I want her just the way she used to be. Cheery and happy, safe and young. I want her how she was before I lost her."

"Even still, there is no way I could give you that. It does not change the fact that she absorbed me when she tried to save you from Satellite Five. Even if I were to expel myself from her completely you would find she didn't have much longer to live, she would have acquired several different cancers, the human body too fragile to contain the vortex."

He sobs louder, the universe which he had hoped to perfect is still missing that final piece, Rose's soul and presence, to make it complete. Rose, his rose. She finally will be gone. He will finally have to let go. He looks back up into her eyes and see them burning brightly with tears, the lips so round and rouge quivering slightly in sorrow.

_"As you wish."_

And taking a breath in, she leans in to press herself against him, press those lips along his own, the power and force behind her whipping around them in grandeur and radiance. The force of their union causing stars to fade, and new ones to be made. Supernova's to burn up, and Atlantis to sink. Heat dances along his skin and heart, and he is finally soothed, his pain finally revealed to him and closed up. A scar that will fade away over time.

_Goodbye my Doctor,_ he hears whisper through his mind, the brush of her curls, tickling his cheeks as he takes her in his arms and pulls her closer.

_I hope that this is what you want._

And as heavens and worlds are formed, as stars collide in a deep dark sky. As children of men and aliens alike learn their first words, or take their first steps. As some beings take their last breath as newborns gasp in their first, rawly. As the luminosity begins to fade all around him, he hears time whisper his name once more, a name that he had not heard in hundreds of years, but one that slips out of his mind as it drifts out and away from him.

Just like the sea.


	21. Epilogue

"How is she?" he asks with a tenderness in his voice as he looks across the gardens, the amber glow familiar but distant. He looks past Romana's face to Rose who sits motionless on a swing. He's sure that she demanded it, just so she can sit there in a tree of golden leaves and deep brown bark. In this light all he can see is this silhouette of her distant figure.

"She's adjusting. The chemical balance in her body is what we've been keeping an eye on. The baby though, seems to be healthy. I can only imagine the trauma she is going through, knowing she can never go back to the life she remembers. What she does remember, that is."

"Does she know?"

"It's hard not too." Romana replies, both watching as the young woman kicks her heels into the ground to push into a swinging motion. "We still have no idea how she managed to have enough of the genetically engineered organisms to give her two regenerations."

"Yes well, quirky thing that was. No idea myself, but I'm sure that someone will discover something that will make it all make perfect sense."

"Why do I have a feeling that you're behind this?" Romana inquires, a hint of deference in her voice. But she stands her ground, her chin high, not a glimpse of recognition in her eyes.

"Because I'm always behind it." He responds cheekily, his hands placed in his pockets, a small grin breaking out on his face. But his eyes tell a different story as they so often do. One of weariness and resign that he knows he can no longer hide.

He tries to recall it, the sheer magnificence and warmth of her presence, and yet as the seconds continue to pass like a constant ticking of a clock in the back of his mind, the less he remembers. It has only been a few short days since he awoke back on his home planet, a few short hours since he realized that only he and Martha remembered anything at all, only to realize that she'd begin to forget it faster than he longed for.

Bits and pieces, hour by hour.

"The eye of the storm," he murmurs aloud, unaware of Romana shaking her head at him a confounded look etched into the deepening lines of her face. But it does not shake him in the slightest. There will be many eyes, of many storms soon to follow, until this will blend in with the rest of his ever-changing memories. When he finally does notice that she still is staring at him, he begins to realize just how old she's beginning to look, much different from the young Time lady he ran off to Paris with all those years ago. He focuses on her silver hair braided through her golden blonde tresses, and it's then he realizes he made the right choice.

"Doesn't she have family? A home to go to?" Romana inquires.

"Yes a mother, quite possibly a father, though I'm not quite sure of that at the moment, and at least a good friend. But she is no longer a human by definition and I fear for her safety as well as the safety of the child. I don't want anything to happen to her."

"Of course, I see how that could make matters more complicated I'm sure. I presume the only thing left to say is congratulations Doctor, you are the first Time Lord to have a child through conception in a long time. Maybe there is hope for us still yet." She murmurs turning to watch as Rose pushes herself backwards and forwards on the swing.

"Yes, about that. Not quite sure, but that may all be a myth. A little bird told me once on my adventures that there was nothing wrong with us. That we could shut down the looms and always try again."

She stops mid-step and stares at him again with that look that still hasn't left her face.

"A little bird told you this, did they?" she asks, their steps moving towards the open door of the TARDIS, a few yards away Martha sits waiting.

"You have to know by now I never reveal my sources." He tells her, the wind blowing through his hair and trench as they walk back up the hillside. Another moment passes quietly on in its simplicity and he thinks of the miraculous return of the home planet he has secretly always treasured so dear. It has always been within him to push away the things he loved most of all.

Gallifrey, Susan, she who sits so prettily behind him on the swing.

"Does she remember anything?" he asks, breaking the silence between them and a curious look passes over the face of the woman who steps in line beside him. She stares at him in wonder and questioning, a look that he reads too well. She wonders if he has had the decency to talked to Rose himself, or if he is just trying to fil the quiet. He can tell she is not too sure what to believe.

"She says she was back at a place she calls Torchwood and she saw you come towards her, a glow about you. She remembers an intimate moment exchanged and then… nothing. Tell me, what really did happen out there Doctor? What adventure did you get up to this time that brings me back a pregnant child. One who is not born Gallifreyan but has somehow become one, and now is carrying a naturally conceived Time Lord child?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He murmurs, looking down at Martha as they reach her. She stands up and brushes her knees off, before smiling somewhat shyly at Romana.

"Martha, this is the President of Gallifrey, Romanadvoratrelundar but you can call her Romana."

Both women shake hands, a distance that only strangers possess, and it makes him smile sadly. It seems Martha has already forgotten their once tentative bond. Soon she will forget this place as well.

"Thank you Romana, for everything you've done." He tells her, his own hand lingering in hers when she moves to hold his, and he means it with the greatest of sincerity.

"I'm not quite sure what I have done Doctor other than help you reclaim your rights on Gallifrey. Though I must warn you if you wish to reclaim your name and birthright you will have to be present for a re-induction ceremony."

He looks down the hill of red grass and into the valley, past Rose's silhouette and out to the mountain range, the suns both burning brightly in the sky. Sighing, he watches the girl swing back and forth, her dress fluttering as she does so before looking back down into Romana's eyes.

"No. I am the Doctor now, and I know myself."

She nods her head just the once at him before nodding to Martha and walking away. Both Martha and the Doctor watch the elder Time Lord walk away towards the trees and Rose. Taking one last deep breath the Doctor turns to Martha and nods.

Both begin to walk back to the TARDIS in quiet, a heavy silence falling between them before Martha begins.

"You know, it won't be so bad, It's going to be nice see my family and to finally finish my exams."

"So we are going back to Earth then? Though I'm not going to lie I'm not really planning to stay that long so you can finish your exams," He adds jovially.

"What are you talking about?"

"What are YOU talking about?" He asks, turning to his companion and looking at her in wild confusion. The stop where they are, Martha looking up into his eyes with hurt and misunderstanding.

"I thought…" she trails off, looking back down towards Rose, who is now being helped by Romana back towards the city. "I thought now that you finally found Rose, you'd be probably having her around more often. You know, go on vacation, especially since my one trip was up more than awhile ago." She smiles so brightly back, a shine that is not happiness burning brilliantly in her eyes.

She places her hands in her pockets as she says this, the insecurity she feels making her modest and it's moments like these he forgets she's not psychic, nor has ever been. But it will be one more thing to forget as time continues to heal itself.

"Well, adventures big or small aren't really ideal for a baby. So I figured we may as well go get a few good ones in before we come back." A small truth and a small lie mixed together in a nonchalant answer. He doubts she'll ever come back this way with him, but she doesn't need to know that quite yet.

He continues to walk towards his ship but doesn't feel her presence beside him, so he turns back to see her still standing there.

"What?"

"I don't get you. All you've ever done was want to get her back, and if you weren't talking about her I could see in your eyes you were thinking about her. Then you tell me you're the last of the Time Lords, another huge indication that maybe, just maybe you'd like to stay to rekindle some old relationships. You have everything you could ever want. A new family in the making, the girl who got away, the planet that you have missed for years, your entire race healthy and alive. They're even dropping the fact that they exiled you, making it so you can come and go as you please."

"And?"

"And why are you leaving this all behind to travel with me?" she asks him exasperated.

He looks down the hill to where Rose sits motionlessly on the swing. One delicate hand pressed tenderly against her stomach. Traces of a conversation that he is suppose to have or that he has already had with her whisper to him against the wind.

He stands behind her, his trainers kicking up dust into the air, her bare feet tracing patterns in the dirt below her. He is about to speak when he hears her voice for the first time since he watched her killed.

_"Swanning off then?" she asks him, trying to sound cheerful to no avail._

He is startled by the comment and comes closer to stand near the swing. He tries to look at her expectant face but finds that it's too hard for him to do and begins to stare down at his dust covered shoes, the sun shining brightly down on her beautiful features. To him, she's glowing, and it's not the pregnancy, and it's not the left over traces of time leaving her body, it's her.

It's just as simple as that, she is his Rose, and she can glow all on her own.

"Penelope, I just wanted to tell you what her name will be."

"Oh, decided then have you? Don't I get a say?" she asks looking up and into his squinting eyes.

"No, I'm just telling you as someone who can see possibilities into the future, that we already decided later on that that would be her name, and I'm just trying to save you some grief in the process."

"Ah, I see."

"Well, I'm glad to be of service," he says placing his hands in his pockets, still gazing down on her, the bright light creating a halo around her body.

"There's only one flaw in your story Doctor?"

"And what might that be?" he asks.

"That I too now can see all that is, all that was, and all that ever could be, and therefore I know how we agree on the name Penelope. We don't." she tells him, never once looking up to see his delicate smile fade from his visage.

"You are a trickster sir." She murmurs, and it's suppose to sound fun and in mockery, but is said too softly to not be taken seriously.

"Rose," he starts, trying to think of a way to explain to her what he knows, "I never meant for this to—"

"I know." She cuts him off, and there's no resentment in her voice, no anger there that he can detect. "I don't blame you in the slightest. But I'm not going to pretend I'm not the least bit petrified by all these new developments."

"Yes, but they are good developments Rose! Very good developments don't ever once think that I am unhappy with them."

"But how could you be? This is exactly what you've never wanted." She asks her voice no louder than a whisper.

"And what I'd fight to the death to keep safe." He tells her, coming up behind the swing and placing his arms around her shoulders. He leans his chin on her forehead. "Nothing in life is planned Rose. That is the beauty of time itself. Everything that is meant to happen does. Whether you want it to or not things will go the way they are suppose too, and even if they don't. Time will find a way to make it right again. You will learn that by being a time lord, you will always be changing your thoughts and memories will always distort to find a new pattern, a new way for all the things that happen to fit. That is the curse of knowing everything that is and will be. You will never truly be sure what was."

"Is that why you cannot remember either? How we got here? How this happened to us? One minute I was being sucked towards the void, the next I'm waking up beside your hospital bed, my body warmer than it has ever felt before, on a planet that I thought was—"

"Rose, I thought it was gone too. But then you came along. You saved me. You saved me all that time ago on the Game Station and you ended the Time War right there and then and you brought back my people. And you did it all for one reason, one reason that most of the people who reside on this planet find below them. You did it out of love. You, a little girl on a little planet that is so secluded in the galaxy, not a president or a world leader, a girl who loves chips and laughing. A girl who likes to sleep in late on Sundays and loves her mum even though she's insane and overbearing, a girl who has never had much but if she had one pound she'd give away two. You saved me. You saved me because you loved me. You had power that no one in the universe, not even I, could have dreamed. Power to destroy and create in the blink of an eye and you used it to lead me back to you. You brought back my planet, and made me a child, and that Rose, is all I can give you. It's all the truth I have."

"And it's a truth, that in time… I will forget, because new memories will form, and it will be like no time at all has gone missing." Rose says, and it's more of a statement than a question.

"Precisely, and in time I will forget too. Maybe not as fast as you, but I will, and all that has happened will be just another adventure that we had and escaped, and it will not seem like everything has changed so fast."

They stay there in silence for a moment, his arms still resting around her shoulders, her own hands still wrapped around the rope from her swing.

"So time just marches on does she? Never stopping for anyone? Always doing as she pleases? Muddling up even the best laid plans?"

"That's right."

"She must get lonely then. Because if our memory is always changing that means that only she holds the knowledge of what really did and didn't happen."

He stands quietly thinking about her words and the wisdom that comes from her insightful look at things. It's partly why he's drawn to her so much. Because she always has an answer that makes him think, always has an idea that seems fresh to him. It may not be original, it may not be something drastically different, but for some reason, her delivery always gets to him.

"You talk as though Time is a living entity."

"But she is isn't she? You taught me that." She answers, her hands slowly sliding up the swing to hold his hands in her own.

The stay that way for what seems to be forever, before she drops her hands from his and he takes a few steps back, the ticking at the back of his head is getting worse and it's time for him to say what he has come down here to tell her.

"I have to—"

"I know."

"It's not you, it's just that—"

"I know."

"I'll be—"

"I know."

He sighs, and shakes his head at the awkwardness of the situation, scratching the back of his neck with his left hand.

"You know, I thought this would have been a harder conversation."

"Go. Do what you need to do. But don't forget to come home."

He nods, and then realizes that she won't be able to see the affirmation from where she's sitting.

"I will."

He begins to walk away from the swing, a sinking feeling going on through his chest, but with every step he takes further away from her the lighter his steps are until he takes a moment to turn around and see her again standing a few meters away.

"My mum was right you know." She quietly tells him, her voice barely above a murmur. He is about to ask her about what before he thinks better of it and waits for her to explain.

"She said, one day that I'd keep on changing, and that in time there'd be a woman, a strange woman some planet a billion miles away from Earth and she wouldn't be Rose Tyler. Not anymore. Not even human…"

And with that he begins to walk away. 

He looks back to Martha who continues to stare at him incredulously and thinks for a moment what to tell her, if he should explain that leaving is in his blood and even with the ability to come back for Rose and the fact that Gallifrey still exists that he still longs to be free. He thinks about how to tell her that she means more to him that he'll ever know and that one day she and Rose will get along just fine, just as they did in the past, a past she does not remember anymore. He thinks about telling her that Rose does not hate her or blame her for stealing him away so she needn't worry so much. Or that they still have adventures they have to go on, still have people to meet for penance before he can settle down and forgive himself for all his indiscretions. He even considers telling her that the next time they part she'll be leaving him and this moment in time will be long forgotten.

But instead he looks down into her dark black eyes, sees the confusion and the hope there and knows that the simplest of words have always held the most power.

"Rose is my past, and she may very well be my future. But you Martha are my present which is all that matters. Now let's get going I know exactly where I want to go next." He tells her before walking through the TARDIS doors and waiting for her to walk through behind him.

"Oh yeah, and just where is that?" she asks him, her hands in her back pockets as she watches him dash around the TARDIS console with energy and delight.

"We're going to go have tea with an old friend of mine. Tell me Martha, have you ever met a real Captain before?"


End file.
